"I came, Maryanne," said he, putting out his hand to her, "I came—to settle our wedding day."
"My children, my children!" said Mr. Brown.
"That's all very fine," said Maryanne; "but I've heard so much about wedding days, that I'm sick of it, and don't mean to have none."
"What; you will never be a bride?"
"No; I won't. What's the use?"
"You shall be my bride;—to-morrow if you will."
"I'll tell you what it is, George Robinson; my belief of you is, that you are that soft, a man might steal away your toes without your feet missing 'em."
"You have stolen away my heart, and my body is all the lighter."
"It's light enough; there's no doubt of that, and so is your head. Your heels too were, once, but you've given up that."
"Yes, Maryanne. When a man commences the stern realities of life, that must be abandoned. But now I am anxious to commence a reality which is not stern,—that reality which is for me to soften all the hardness of this hardworking world. Maryanne, when shall be our wedding day?"