‘She bain’t so very old,’ he remarked.
‘No, no—of course not. Neither are you for that matter. May she be an evergreen like yourself!’
‘Thank ’ee, Richard, thank ’ee. I’m glad as you approve o’ my thinking on matrimony.’
‘Why, matrimony’s the best thing going,’ said Richard, still gaily, yet with an undercurrent of something curiously like tenderness. ‘Every grief is lessened by half, and every joy is doubled. Always a bright cheery face at the fireside, always a kind true hand in yours—a woman’s wit to point out where the man has been at fault.’
‘Ah,’ interrupted his uncle, with a groan, ‘they be willin’ enough to do that!’
‘Always ready to comfort you when you are in trouble,’ went on the young man without heeding him, ‘ready to advise you when you are in a difficulty—the best of companions, the most faithful of friends, the kindest of helpmates—that’s a wife!’
The farmer was gazing across at him with bewilderment mixed with delight.
‘Well said, Richard,—very well said! Ye be wonderful quick wi’ your tongue. If that’s the way ye feel about wedlock you ought to be lookin’ out for a wife o’ your own.’
‘Nonsense, Uncle Isaac. Why, I have n’t a penny. I shall have hard work to keep myself to begin with.’
‘Come, come, we mid be able to manage summat. I’ve a notion in my head. Ye be a-goin’ to take up farm-work agen, ye tell me; well, an’ as I says to you: Why not work on the farm where ye was brought up, and why not take wage from your own flesh and blood instead of lookin’ to strangers for ’t?’