“But to talk of love as love is betwixt the elderly—to talk of companionship—to talk of shelterin' one another again the loneliness of late old age—to talk of each one tekin' up the little remnant of life as was left to 'em and putting it i' the other's hands for kindly keepin'! Should you think as that was ridiculous, Rachel?”
“I should think,” said Rachel, “that old fools are the greatest fools of all.” Ezra sighed. “I do not know,” she said at this, “that the poor-marquis is so much to blame, but the lady should have known better than listen to his folly.”
“I had thought,” said Ezra, patiently, “you would ha' took a different view of it, Rachel.” They went on to the gate without another word. “Good-morning, Rachel,” Ezra said there. “Don't be afraid of me. I will not come back again to this subject. I had hoped you would not ha' looked on it with such mislikin'; but sence you do, I will say no more about it.”
So they parted, and met again and were good friends, and not infrequent companions, and Ezra said no more.
The eve of Reuben's great day came round, and Reuben was dismissed from his sweetheart's presence to wander where he would, for Ruth and her assistants (among whom was none more important than Aunt Rachel) had a prodigious deal to do. The lovers were to leave directly after their marriage for no less a place than London, and there were dresses to be tried on and finished and packed, and altogether the time was trying. In his wanderings about the fields Reuben encountered the younger Sennacherib, whom he strove vainly to avoid; not because he disliked him, but because his own thoughts kept him in better company just then than the younger Sennacherib was likely to provide in his own person. But Snac was not a man to be lightly shaken off, and Reuben bent himself to listen to him as best he might.
“So,” said young Sennacherib, “thee beest goin' to enter into the bounds of 'oly matterymony?” Reuben laughed, and nodded an affirmative. “Well, theest done a very pretty thing for me amongst you.”
“For you?” said Reuben. “How?”
“Why this way,” said Snac, bending his knees to make the tight embraces of his cords endurable. “Thee wast by when my feyther gi'en me the farewell shillin'. Very well. I'd got nothin' i' the world, and he knowed it. After a bit he begun to relent a bit, though nobody 'd iver had expected sich a thing. But so it was. He took to sendin' me a sov a week, onbeknownst to anybody, and most of all to mother. Well, mother sends me a sov a week from the beginning unbeknownst to anybody, and most of all him. Her'd ha' gone in fear of her life if her'd ha' guessed he knowed it. And now my income's cut down to half, and all because of this here weddin' o' thine.”
“I don't see how,” said Reuben.
“Why thus,” said Snac, with a somewhat rueful grin. “This here Rachel Blythe as has come back to the parish has come to a reconciling with your uncle, as was a by-gone flame of hern; and her tells my mother as it's thee and thy bride as browt that to pass.”