"’Twill smell of cobbler’s wax, but that will be forgotten when Shillabeer takes the covers off," declared Mr. Bowden. "As for him, I could find it in my heart to wish he wasn’t going to be there at all, for ’twill remind him of his wife and cast him down till he’ll blubber into the plates, but of course he must be on the spot as he provides the dinner. And Charles Moses must be asked, if he’s going to lend his big room, though, to be honest, I never liked the man since he made all that fuss about the fight. Pious it may have been, but godly it weren’t, for fighting be the backbone of human nature, and you’ll find that the Lord’s chosen hadn’t got far before He set ’em at it, hammer and tongs." "But about the Crockers," said Margaret; "and if I may say so, I hope there’s no objection, for David and Bartley be very good friends now, and I’m sure Bartley’s terrible sorry he so far forgot hisself as to kiss Rhoda." "He can come and kiss her again for all I care," replied Elias. "All the nation may be at the wedding and welcome. There’s only one living man won’t be there if I’m anybody. But Crocker’s welcome, and his managing mother, and his Aunt Susan also." "I don’t like Nanny Crocker myself," confessed Mrs. Bowden. "She’s a thought too swallowed up in vain-glory and seems to think that her family be something special and above common earth. But I had the best of her in argument when my twins was born, and I can afford to be large-minded. As for Susan, there’s plenty of sense in her, only she don’t dare to show it." "Bartley’s learnt upholstering," said Madge. "He could earn two pound a week in the world now at any time, and he’s going to look out for a wife." "All to the good and all sound sense," replied the warrener. "Well, us had better ask him to tea. Here’s plenty here for all markets--our Sophia, with all the larning of a widow and youth still on her side, and our Rhoda--though ’twill have to be a frosty pattern of man to take her fancy, and our Dorcas--not much to look at, but very anxious to get married seemingly." "’Tis Screech--that bowldacious ragamuffin!" burst out Mrs. Bowden. "To think such a man should dare to offer for any daughter of mine. A poaching, ragged rascal--more like one of they tramps than a respectable man. Faither’s going to lay his horsewhip round the fellow’s shoulders if he comes up here again--ban’t you, faither?" "Yes," said Elias, "I am. And don’t you ask him to the wedding, Margaret, because I wouldn’t have it." Margaret was true to herself. "Poor chap," she said. "I’m very sorry he can’t have Dorcas, but of course you know best. Perhaps he’ll mend some day."