“Oh, they're good enough maybe, if they're what you want. But boardin's boardin'; 'tain't like your own home.”
“Caleb, it's a wonder to me you don't rent a little house and live in it. You've got money enough; least so everybody says.”
“Humph! What everybody says is 'most generally lies. What would be the sense of my hirin' a house? I'd have to have a housekeeper and a good one costs like thunder. A feller's wife has to get along on what he gives her, but a housekeeper—”
He stopped short, seemingly struck by a new and amazing idea. Miss Parker rambled on about the old days when “dear papa” was alive; how happy she was then, and so on, with occasional recourse to the handkerchief. Suddenly Caleb slapped his knee.
“It's all right,” he said. “It's fine—and it's commonsense, too. Hannah, what's the matter with you and me gettin' married?”
Hannah stared at him.
“Married!” she repeated. “Me get married! Who to, for the land sakes? Are you out of your head?”
“Not a mite. What's the matter with you marryin' me?”
“My soul! Is this a funny-paper joke, or are you—”
“'Tain't a joke; I mean it. Is there any reason why we shouldn't marry and settle down together, you and me? I don't see none. You could keep house for me then, and 'twouldn't cost—that is, you could look out for me, and I—well, I suppose likely I could look out for you, too. Why not?”