"I hope she ain't a great
meat-eater," he thought, "but it's too soon to cross that bridge
yet a while."
"I've no doubt of it," said the widow, wondering if her voice
rang true; "but I've got a pension, and why should I leave this
cosy little home? Would I better myself any, that's the question?
I'm kind of lonesome here, that's the only reason I'd consider a
move."
"No need o' bein' lonesome down to the Falls," said the Deacon.
"And I'm in an' out all day, between the barn an' the store."
This, indeed, was not a pleasant prospect, but Jane Tillman had
faced worse ones in her time.
"I'm no hand at any work outside the house," she observed, as if
reflecting. "I can truthfully say I'm a good cook, and have a
great faculty for making a little go a long ways." (She
considered this a master-stroke, and in fact it was; for the
Deacon's mouth absolutely watered at this apparently unconscious
comprehension of his disposition.) "But I'm no hand at any chores
in the barn or shed," she continued. "My first husband would
never allow me to do that kind of work."
"Perhaps I could git a boy to help out; I've been kind o'
thinkin' o' that lately. What wages would you expect if I paid a
boy for the rough work?" asked the Deacon tremulously.
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