"Oh," cried Mrs. Shever, seeing she had made a mistake, "of course she couldn't help it, poor soul."
"Well, first that occurred, and made me feel as unhappy as if she had been my own wife."
"You ain't married, are you?" exclaimed the buxom widow, raising her head in alarm.
"Why, bless your kind heart, no. I've come here to ask your advice. I find Mary Ann hasn't kept; so, knowing you are a motherly sort of a soul, I come to ask you what you would advise me to do."
Mrs. Shever did not much relish the term "motherly sort of a soul;" but, relying upon her powers of entanglement, she let him run on.
"I'm young and have good prospects, and all I want is to meet with a girl who is honest and good, and who will be as true to me as I will be to her. I've got a first-rate berth on shore, and can afford to keep a wife, so I means to have one. I have loved a woman, who is now better off, in such a way as I shall never love again." Here Jerry's eye moistened a little. "But I promise that whoever I gets married to now I will stick to, and do my best to make her happy. But one thing I must bargain for. I must take care of my little boy, and she must be one as will look kindly on him."
"I'll forgive you that," cried the delighted widow. "Oh, Jerry, there ain't many men like you. The boy will not stand in the way."
"When his poor father dies—"
"I hope he'll be spared many years. Oh, Jerry, don't talk about dying upon such a happy occasion as this," cried the sympathetic woman, the tears streaming down her face.