“Wal, ’t ain’t so warm when the sun goes down,” he replied, glancing at her flushed face. Her lids drooped. “What’s the matter, Swickey?”
“Oh, nothing—I”—she hesitated and sat down by the window, her foot tapping the floor.
“Thought mebby you had suthin’ to say. Ain’t worried ’bout anything, be you?” He patted her head, gazing down at her with quiet tenderness.
She looked up and laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. “Oh, Pop, I just must tell you. Don’t laugh at me, but I know it sounds foolish. Joe Smeaton asked me to marry him.”
“Joe Smeaton—asked—ye—to marry him? Wal, jumpin’ snakes, what’s a-coming next?”
“He was very nice about it,” she replied. “He said he wanted to settle down and go to farming—and that he knew I couldn’t ever like him. Said he hadn’t any right to ask, but he just couldn’t help it. That he couldn’t sleep until he heard me say ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ and that he’d stop chewing tobacco forever if—Oh, dear! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, he was so serious and so uncomfortable—and he was chewing tobacco when he asked me. I cried a little, I guess. Anyway, he said he knew I’d say ‘No,’ but that he felt better already. Then I laughed and so did he, and that made me cry again, it sounded so mournful. Poor Joe.”
“Poor soapsuds!” exclaimed Avery. “The idee of him, thet red-headed, chiny-eyed—”
“Father!”
“Wal, I reckon Joe has feelin’s the same as any human critter. He ain’t the wust feller this side of ‘Fifteen’—and I can’t say as I blame him.”
Swickey’s color flooded to her brows. “That isn’t all, Pop. There was another one—Andy Slocum.”