“Courting,” thought Josh, “is awful hard work.” The perspiration stood on his forehead, and his eel-skin queue pulled so tight that he began to fear the top of his head was coming off; but not a word could he say. And just at that moment a green stick of wood upon the fire began to sing in a dismal tone, “_Que, que, que, que, que_.” Nothing frets the nerves more when a body is a little fidgetty, than the singing and sputtering of a stick of wood. Josh felt worse than ever, but the stick kept on: _que, que, que, quiddle, de dee, que, que, quiddledy quiddledy que, que, que_. Josh caught up the tongs and gave the fire a tremendous poke. This exertion somewhat relieved him. “Hannah!” said he, hitching his chair a yard nearer. “Well, Josh.” “Now,” thought Josh, “I _will_ tell I love her.” “Hannah,” said he again, “I—” He stared so wildly and made such a horrible grimace that Hannah bounced from her chair. “Hannah, I say,” repeated he; but here again his courage failed him. “What say, Josh?” “I—I—it’s a grand time for turnips,” said Josh, “Ugh! ugh! ugh!” “Poh!” returned Hannah, “let alone of my apron-string, you Josh.” Josh sat in silence and despair for some time longer, growing more and more nervous every moment. Presently the stick of wood burst out squeaking again in the most doleful style imaginable: _Quiddledy, quiddledy quee-ee-ee-iddledy, que, que quiddledy quiddledy que que que-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee_. Josh could not bear it any longer, for he verily believed his skull-bone was splitting. “I swaggers!” he exclaimed, “this is too bad!” “What’s the matter, Josh?” asked Hannah, in considerable alarm. “Suthin’ ails me,” said Josh. “Dear me!” exclaimed Hannah; “shan’t I get you a mug of cider?” “Do,” replied Josh, “for I don’t feel as I used to did.” Hannah ran down to the cellar and returned with a quart mug of cider. Josh put it to his lips and took a heavy pull. It was what the farmers call _hard_ cider, and Josh verily feared his eyes would start out of his head while he was drinking it, but after several desperate gulps he succeeded in draining the mug. Then pulling a blue and white check handkerchief from his pocket, he rubbed his face very hard, and looked straight into the fire. But in a few minutes he found his spirits wonderfully rising; he lifted up his eyes, hitched his chair nearer, sent Hannah a sly look, and actually gave a loud giggle. Hannah giggled in reply, for giggling, like gaping, is contagious. In two minutes more, his courage rose higher; he threw one of his long legs across the other, gave a grin, slapped his hand upon his knee, and exclaimed as bold as a lion: “Hannah, if a young feller was for to go to offer for to kiss you, what d’ye think ye should do?” Having uttered these words, he stopped short, his mouth wide open, in gaping astonishment at his own temerity.