"No, he's just the same, and besides he'd always think he'd stooped to marry me."
"Then take Jim Halloween. With three good able-bodied lovers at yo' beck an' call, it's a downright shame to die an old maid just from pure contrariness. It's better arter all, to eat dough that don't rise than to go hungry."
A step sounded on the platform outside and a lank, good-looking countryman glanced cautiously in through the crack in the door. Observing Molly, he spat a wad of tobacco over the hitching rail by the steps, and stopped to smooth his straw-coloured hair with the palm of his hand before crossing the threshold.
"Thar's Jim Halloween now jest as we were speakin' of him," whispered
Betsey Bottom, with a nudge at Molly's shoulder.
"Well, if that don't beat all," drawled the young man, in an embarrassed rapture, as he entered. "I was gettin' my horse shod over thar at Tim Mallory's, an' I thought to myself that I'd jest drop over an' say 'howdy' to Mrs. Bottom."
"Oh, I reckon you caught a glimpse of red through the door," chuckled Betsey, who was possessed of the belief that it was her Christian duty to further any match, good or bad, that came under her eye.
"I must be going, so don't hurry your visit," replied Molly, laughing.
"Mrs. Hatch has been in bed for a week and I'm on my way to see Judy."
"I'll walk a bit of the road with you if you ain't any serious objection," remarked the lover, preparing to accompany her.
"Oh, no, none in the world," she replied demurely, "you may carry my cough syrup."
"It ain't for yourself, I hope?" he inquired, with a look of alarm.