"Don’t," said Rhoda. "Don’t be a fool, Madge. I know David better than what you do; and, if you’re that sort, you never will know him as well as I know him; because you’ll vex and cross him and he’ll hide himself from you. He’s a strong, hard man and straight as sunlight. If you’re going to be soft and silly over this, or over anything, you won’t make him love you any the better. Take my advice and try to feel like I do--like a man about it. It’s got to be, and if you are against it and come to him with a long face and silly prayers not to fight for your sake, and all that stuff, you won’t choke him off fighting, but you may choke him off--" "’Off me’ you were going to say. Well, that’s where I know him better than you do, for all you know him so well, Rhoda. But don’t think I’m a fool. ’Tis natural I don’t want the dear face I love to be bruised by another man’s fist; but if ’tis to be--’tis to be. I only ask to know _why_ ’tis to be. I suppose David can tell me that?" "We’ll leave it so then, since you don’t know why," said the other. "How’s the pup? Have it settled down?" But if Margaret Stanbury viewed this battle with dismay, her emotions were trivial compared with those of Bartley Crocker’s mother and Bartley Crocker’s aunt. In vain did the fighter try to keep his great secret from them. It was impossible, and Mr. Moses laid every detail of the proposed encounter before Nanny two mornings after he had heard about it. Bartley was from home when Charles Moses arrived, and the shoemaker harrowed and horrified his two listeners at leisure. Such palpitation overtook Mrs. Crocker, that the very cotoneaster on the outer walls seemed to throb to its berried crown; while as for Aunt Susan Saunders, having once grasped the nature of the things to be, her heart quite overcame her and she wept. But the mother of Bartley wept not: she panted--panted with wrath till her expansive bust creaked. Her anger flowed forth like a tide and swallowed first Mr. Shillabeer and the low characters he encouraged at ’The Corner House’; next, David Bowden and his family; next, the Stanburys, who doubtless were deeply involved in this contemplated crime; and lastly, the aged stranger, Mr. Fogo, concerning whose bloodthirsty and blood-stained career Charles Moses had dropped some hints. Her son Mrs. Crocker blamed not at all. She scoffed at the notion of her innocent and amiable boy seeking to batter any man.