"Come, my dear lass, put me out of moi misery. Say no, and I'll blow out moi brains; say yes, and I'll gie thee a hearty kiss."
Just then Mary Ann heard a light tapping at the window, so she observed in a very low voice, "I should—be very sorry—to—to—think you—would injure yourself out of regard for me—so I" (here the tapping became very distinct) "will say yes to save you from—"
"Bless thy heart, my dear gal. I'll treat thee like a queen," cried the elated carpenter, giving the blushing girl a hug, which almost took her breath away, at which opportune moment her sister returned.
"Good gracious! why, what are you about, Mr. Jenkins?"
"Only adoin' what you told me," replied the lover.
"Me told you, Mr. Jenkins?"
"There, there, name the day, and let's get it over," said the youth. But Mary Ann was not to be carried by storm in that way; so she put off replying to the question until they returned from the theatre, where unluckily they saw "Romeo and Juliet" acted; and the girl would persist in crying during the performance, as it reminded her so strongly of the never-to-be-forgotten night. However, after partaking of a light supper consisting of a beefsteak-pudding and baked potatoes, upon Mrs. Shever artfully reminding the lover that Polly had not replied to his request, and begging it might be done at once, that she could drink their health and happiness with her first sup of porter, the poor girl consented; and upon the day Mrs. Mackay advised Thompson "to think of the good girl waiting for him somewhere at home," Mary Ann found herself, "until death did her part," joined to the young carpenter who was after no good, and became Mrs. Joseph Jenkins, thus demonstrating the folly of Jerry's illusion, "that Mary Ann would keep."
