Pam had grown up in the sight of Ullbrig, variously loved and hated for her self-same virtues; and on a day when the time seemed not yet ripe (for fear some more enterprising spirit might pluck it green), the men of Ullbrig and of Whivvle, and of Merensea and of Garthston, and of Sproutgreen and of Ganlon, and of Hunmouth even, arose, gave a pull to their waistcoats, and took turns at offering themselves before her on the matrimonial altar. That, as you may imagine, made Pam more enemies than ever.
Who the first man was to win the honor of her refusal has not been established on a sufficiently authoritative basis for publication in this volume, but after him came a constant stream of postulants. She could have had any man she liked for the lifting of her little finger; hardly one of them got married but took the wife he did because he could n't take Pam. George Cringle, indeed, from Whivvle way, boldly challenged her to marry him while his own banns were up with the daughter of the Garthston miller.
"Oh, George," said Pam, when he stopped her by the smock-mill on the Whivvle road and made his views known to her; too much shocked by his dreadful duplicity to exult over her sister's downfall as an Ullbrig girl might have done. "However could you."
"Ah could very well," said George resourcefully, misconstruing the reproval into an encouraging query about how the thing was to be done. "An' ah 'll tell y' t' way. Ah 'd send my brother to let 'er know ah 'd gotten chance o' betterin' mysen, an' wor gannin' to tek it, an' we 'd 'ave me an' you's names called i' Oolbrig Choch. Noo, what div ye say?"
Pam said "No," and preached one of the prettiest open-air sermons you ever heard. It was on love and marriage; telling how true love was essential to happiness, and how marriage without love was mere mockery, and how the man that betrayed the affections of a girl by demeaning her in the sight of another was not worthy to be called man at all; and how, if George did n't care for Rose, he ought never to have soiled his lips with the falsehood of saying he did ("Ay, ah do, bud ah care for you a deal better," said George); and how he ought to try and make himself worthy of Rose, and she of him; and how, if he really felt that that was impossible, he ought to stand forth boldly and proclaim so before it was too late ("Ah 'm ready, onnytime ye tell me," said George); but how Pam knew that George was a good fellow at heart ("Ah div n't say there is n't them 'at's as good," said George, modestly, "if ye know t' place to look for 'em"); and how, doubtless, he did n't mean any harm ("Ah-sure ah div n't"); and so on ... much as you 've seen it all put in books before, but infinitely more beautiful, because Pam's own dear face was the page, and Pam's lips the printed words; and George stood and watched her with his own lips reforming every word she said, in a state of nodding rapture.
"Gan yer ways on," he begged her, when at last she came to a stop. "Ah can tek as much as ye 've got to gie me."
"I 've finished," said Pam.
"Ay; bud can't ye think o' onnythink else?" he inquired anxiously. "Ah like to 'ear ye—an' it mud do me some good. Rose could n't talk i' that fashion, ah 'll a-wander. Nay; Rose could n't talk same as yon. Not for nuts, she could n't. She 's a fond 'un, wi' nowt to say for 'ersen bud, 'Oh, George! gie ower.' What did ye tell me ah 'ad to prawclaim?" he asked, with a crafty attempt to lure Pam on again. "Ah want to mek right sure ah en 't forgotten owt."
Whereupon Pam wrought with her wavering brother a second time...
"Ay; it 's all right what ye 've telt me," he said, in deep-hearted concurrence, when her words drew to an end once more. "Ah know it is. Ye 've gotten right pig by t' lug, an' no mistek.... Well? What div ye say? Mun ah send my brother to tell 'er ah s'll not be there o' Monday week?"