"'Scuse me Si, there's the squire comin' in."
"Mornin', Squire."
"Mornin', Si. Has your clocks stopped, so's you don't know it's afternoon? How's biz?"
"Oh, so so. What's new?"
"Nothin', only the selectmen held a meetin' yesterday an' Elmiry Rogers is a-goin' to the poorhouse. She's back in her intrust, and ain't got no prospects, and the Doctor has got to foreclose. They wanted I s'd tell her, but someways, I don't like the idea. She'll be kep' warm and she'll be better off, and she'll have plenty of comp'ny, but I knowed her when she went to school, an' I knowed her mother too. For the sake of auld lang syne I don't want to hurt her."
"Sho now, ain't that too bad?" said both the Saffords together.
Nobody knew just when Mr. Weeks left the store, and Elmiry Ann was startled when she opened the door in response to his vigorous rap. She had not been at home long, and the colour still burned in her cheeks. The valentines lay on the table, presenting a strange contrast to their bleak and commonplace surroundings.
"Why, how do you do?" she exclaimed with a queer little note in her voice. "Will you come in?"
"Yes, I'll come in," he said decisively. He shut the door with a bang and took the trembling frightened woman into his arms.
"Elmiry! You poor little soul! I've wanted you 'most twenty years, an' I ain't never had courage to say it 'til now. We've waited too long, an' I want you to come and be my valentine—will you, dear?"