"Mercy on us, Cicely!" exclaimed the widow in a sort of terror, "and you want to marry him?"
"Of course I do," proudly said the girl; "and I mean to marry him."
"Oh, Cicely, my child! and what will Mr. Lightus do—him that's been comin' here so patient, off an' on?"
"Mr. Lighthouse!" disdainfully echoed the girl. "Do you suppose I would have that old goose—old enough to be my grandfather!"
"Old goose! Fie, Cicely, to talk so disrespectful of your pa's best friend. He's well-to-do an' has got the finest place in the county. Think how nice we'd be fixed, child. We'd never have to work no more," and the widow sighed as the girl looked into her face for the congratulations she expected in vain.
"Well, mother, I can't help it. I am willing to work and so is Rufus. He is as industrious and steady as the day is long. I shouldn't mind having Mr. Lighthouse for an uncle, but husband—pshaw!" and the pretty features screwed themselves into a comical grimace.
"Child, child, I'm disappointed and no mistake. Here's that man's been a comin' here all these weeks, an' while he ain't asked for you, it's clear he wants you. An' now I've got to tell him you won't have him. There's that moggidge on the house, too. But that's allers the way—troubles don't never come single," and the sigh became a whimper.
"Now, don't you worry, mother," said Cicely, clasping her arms about the still fair neck, "don't worry; we will come out all right, mortgage and all."
Taking fresh courage, the widow again pressed the claims of the portly wooer, but what chance had she against the combined powers of young love and the daughter's stronger nature.
Time passed. Almost every evening found Hezekiah at the cottage, but though persistent, things did not apparently make much progress. At last the stiffness of the customary interviews seemed to break.