"About our gitt'n' married this spring."
"I guess you'd better find out what I'm a-goin' t' say, Lime Gilman, 'fore you pitch into Dad."
"I know what you're a-goin' t' say."
"No, y' don't."
"Yes, but I do, though."
"Well, ask me, and see, if you think you're so smart. Jest as like 's not, you'll slip up."
"All right; here goes. Marietty Bacon, ain't you an' Lime Gilman goin' t' be married?"
"No, sir, we ain't," laughed the girl, snatching up the plate and darting away to the house, where she struck up "Weevily Wheat," and went busily on about her cooking. Lime threw a kiss at her, and fell to work on his log with startling energy.
Lyman looked forward to his interview with the old man with as much trepidation as he had ever known, though commonly he had little fear of anything—but a girl.
Marietta was not only the old man's only child, his housekeeper, his wife having at last succumbed to the ferocious toil of the farm. It was reasonable to suppose, therefore, that he would surrender his claim on the girl reluctantly. Rough as he was, he loved Marietta strongly, and would find it exceedingly hard to get along without her.