“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said the girl, without raising her head. “Go on—‘and a good provider—’”
“—A good perwider,” continued Mr. Twiggs; “and a feller, of course, as has a’ eye out for the substantials of this life, and ain’t afeard o’ work—that’s the idear! that’s the idear!” said Mr. Twiggs, by way of sweeping conclusion.
“And that’s all old Pop’m asks, after all?” queried the girl, with her radiant face wistful as his own.
“W’y, certainly!” said Mr. Twiggs, with heartiness. “Ain’t that all and everythink to make home happy?”—catching her face between his great brown hands and kissing her triumphantly.
“Hooray for Twiggs-and Twiggs-and Twiggs-and—” cootered the drowsy bird, disjointedly.
The girl had risen.—“And you’ll forgive me for marrying such a man?”
“Won’t I?” said Mr. Twiggs, with a rapturous twinkle.
As he spoke, she flung her arms about his neck and pressed her lips close, close against his cheek, her own glad face now fronting the little window.... She heard the clicking of the latch, the opening of the door, and the step of the intruder ere she loosed her hold.
“God bless you, Pop’m, and forgive me!—This is my husband.”