"Why don't you marry yourself, Jabez? You, all alone i' th' old homestead, with nobody but old Betty to look after you! Dreadful lonesome you must be. Th' house is none too cheerful at th' best o' times. But a woman's pretty face, an' a soft voice, an' th' patter o' little feet 'll lighten it up if now't else will. And tak' advice, Jabez, look further afield, not among th' Wrigleys, an' Wimpennys, an' th' Brookes. Their lasses are weel enough, an' there's money with all on 'em. But they run too much to bone, an' they've been chapelled, an' missionarized, an' dragooned till religion 's soured on 'em, an' when they love they love by rule o' three." But Jabez had winced, and changed the subject. After his wife's death Dick had gradually fallen back into his old courses. He loved his little wench, as he called his daughter, passionately; but a full-blooded, hearty man, still in the very pink and flower of his manhood, one used all his life to the bustle of the market, the free and easy ways of an inn and the sports of the field is not very much at home in a nursery. So Dick, who had felt, when the cruel blow fell, that life had nothing left for him was once more to be seen o' nights at the _Rose and Crown_, roaring out a hunting song, or arranging the details of a coursing match, a pigeon shooting, or a cock fight--and the maidens of the valley of the Holme took heart once more, and began to feel a lively concern for the poor orphaned babe in the lonely house. They forgave Dick--handsome, rollicking Dick--his passing aberration, his one overt act of treason to their charms, and reflected, with satisfaction, that his married life had been so brief, it might be considered as not counting at all--an episode, not a history.