Late on the last day of the month she was making her way back from the town with a very melancholy face, when, at a turn in the road, she suddenly encountered Jacob; Jacob in holiday attire, carrying a large nosegay of monthly roses and lilac.
“Hullo, my maid,” he cried genially, “well met! I were just a-goin’ to see you.”
“Were you?” returned Bethia, in a very small constrained voice.
“E-es, I was a-bringin’ you these here flowers. I seed ’em i’ th’ garden just now, and I thought you’d like ’em.”
“Oh, Mr. Fowler, you shouldn’t give them to me!” cried the girl with a catch in her voice. “I’ve—I’ve just been and taken out a summons against you.”
“Oh, and have you?” said Jacob staring at her. “Well, that’s summat.”
“Yes,” returned Bethia desperately. “I waited till the end of the month, and then I had to do it; it was my duty. Oh, dear; oh, dear!”
“Well, to think on’t,” said Jacob, still apparently more surprised than angry. “Lard ha’ mercy! That be a pretty thing for a maid to do.”
“So you’d best take back your flowers,” broke out Bethia. “I know everything’s at an end between us. I’ve quite made up my mind to it.”
“Ah,” said Jacob, eyeing her thoughtfully; “’tis queer once folks makes up their minds how a notion will stick i’ their heads. Now all this month I’ve been a-thinkin’ and a-thinkin’—I never was one to do a thing in a hurry—but at last I reckoned I’d got it settled. ‘I’ll do it,’ I says, ‘I’ll ax the maid to marry I—that’ll be the best way out of it. She’ll not want to go again’ I then,’ I says. And you go and summons me.”