She assented, partly because she had nothing else to
do with her existence, so far as she could see, and also because
she fell in love with the children at first sight and forgot, as
girls will, that it was their father whom she was marrying.
She was as plucky and clever and spirited as she was handsome,
and she made a brave fight of it with Foxy; long enough to bring
a daughter into the world, to name her Waitstill, and start her a
little way on her life journey,--then she, too, gave up the
struggle and died. Typhoid fever it was, combined with complete
loss of illusions, and a kind of despairing rage at having made
so complete a failure of her existence.
The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually busy, offered a man a
good young heifer if he would jog about the country a little and
pick him up a housekeeper; a likely woman who would, if she
proved energetic, economical, and amiable, be eventually raised
to the proud position of his wife. If she was young, healthy,
smart, tidy, capable, and a good manager, able to milk the cows,
harness the horse, and make good butter, he would give a dollar
and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may
seem, she said "yes" when the Deacon (whose ardor was kindled at
having paid three months' wages) proposed a speedy marriage.
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