“An’ Faith upholds every word of it, an’ thinks ’at a woman ’at has a husband ’oo can respect an’ look up to, ’ll ma’ no bones about obeyin’ him in all things lawful.”
“Well, well,” I said, “I’ve no doubt some strapping young fellow will come along some day, and Faith will have a chance o’ squaring preaching wi’ precept.”
“Aw don’t know so much about a strapping young felly,” said Jack, curtly. “Yo’ young chaps think a wench has no eyes for owt but inches an’ spirits. Faith’s noan o’ that breed. ’Oo thinks a husband owt to be older nor th’ wife, so’s ’oo can lean on him an’ look to him for guidance.”
“Aye,” I said, “Faith’s just turned twenty. Th’ man owt to be five–an–twenty.”
“Five–an–forty, if a minnit,” cried Jack.
And I laughed in his face.
“What, Jack! caught at last! And what about the decent elderly widow ‘wi’ summat i’ th’ Bank ’at mi mother’s lookin’ for’?”
“Ben, quit thi jokin’; it’s no jokin’ matter, isn’t this. Aw tell yo’, Ben, if aw can win Faith Booth for mi wife, aw’st go dahn o’ mi knees an’ thank God wi’ all mi heart for th’ best gift even God can give—a pure an’ good woman. Th’ owd Book well says—‘A crown unto her husband.’ An’ aw’m not wi’out my hope, Ben. But aw’m fleyed on her, man; aw’m fleyed on her.”
“What! a soldier fleyed on a woman, Jack?”
“Aye, Ben, aw’m fleyed on her! Sometime’s when ’oo’s sat quiet by th’ hearth, there’s a look comes on to her face, that aw shouldn’t be surprised any minnit if th’ ceiling oppened up, an’ ’oo just floated away to Heaven. An’ yo’ nivver see her in a temper, like other women, th’ best on ’em; an’ yo nivver hear a cross word fra her, nor hear her gigglin’ an’ laughin’ like other lasses—peas in a drum, th’ cracklin’ o’ thorns under a pot, that’s what they mind me on. She’s just too good to live, is Faith, an’ aw’m not worthy ‘to touch the hem of her garment,’ an’ that’s a fact.”