He was afterwards employed by the farmers at Burley Woodhead; but as he became old and infirm, and troubled with rheumatism, he could not work as formerly, but did what he could, making no stipulations for wages, but asking only for his board, and that his employers should pay him whatever extra they thought his labour entitled him to receive. About this time he became acquainted with a widow named Mary Barret, who lived in a cottage near Coldstone Beck, on the edge of Rumbold's Moor. The widow had a little garden and a paddock which, together with the cottage, had been left her by her husband, who had taken the land from the common and built the cottage on it. Job thought if he could secure the hand of the widow the house and land would be his for life. So one day he paid her a visit. "I'll tell ye what I've been thinking," said Job Senior. "What hast a' been thinking on then, Job? Out wi' it, lad," said the widow. "Well, I've been thinking thou'st getting ou'd, and thou lives all by thy sen i' this house. And I'm a young man"--(he was about sixty)--"and I lives all by my sen by yond crag. Why should not thou and me make it agreeable to live together?" "Dost a' mean that I'm to take thee as a lodger?" asked Mary Barret. "Nay, nay, lass!" answered Job; "I mean we'd better goa to t' kirk together and be wed." "I reckon I'm ower ou'd for that," said the widow. She was in her eightieth year. "I doan't know if tha be ou'd," said Job; "but I knows vary weel thou'rt bonny." No woman's heart, not even in her eightieth year, is proof against flattery, and the fair Mary blushed and yielded to the blooming Job, and married they were. "It's an easy gotten penny by the light o' the moon," said Job, looking over his domain. Mrs. Senior did not long survive her second marriage. She had a long sickness, and Job was kind to her in it. "It's cou'd, Job," she said to her husband one evening when he returned from his work on the moor. "It's cou'd i' this bed, and I cannot feel t' warmth o' t' fire." "Thou shalt be warm, ou'd lass, if I can fashion it," said Job. "But as I cannot bring t' fire nigher thee, I mun bring thee nigher to t' fire." So he pulled up a couple of flags in the floor beside the hearth, dug a pit, and made the old woman's bed in this premature grave, so that she could be close to the fire and comfortable, and if she wanted a cup of tea, could put out her hand and take the pot from the hearth. "Eh, Job!" said old Mary another day, "I think I'd like summut good to eat afore I dies." "Ah!" answered her husband; "then I'll get thee a rare good morsel, that'll set thee up on thy legs again, ou'd lass." So he bought a pound of bacon, roasted it, caught the melted fat in a large iron spoon, and ladled it down his wife's throat. "It's rare good now, isn't it?" exclaimed the husband, as the old woman gulped it down. "Open the trap and I'll teem (pour) down some more."