"Mornin', widdy," remarked the widower, stalking into the room, taking a chair without an invitation, and hanging his hat on his knee. "Cold day," he added cheerfully.
The widow nodded shortly, at the same time inwardly prophesying a still colder day for him before he struck the weather again.
"Been buyin' a new cow," resumed the caller, impressively.
"Have, eh?" returned the widow, with a jerk, bringing out the ironing board and slamming it down on the table.
"An' two hogs," went on the widower, wishing the widow would glance at him just once and see how affectionate he looked. "They'll make pork enough for all next winter and spring."
"Will, eh?" responded the widow, with a bang of the iron that nearly wrecked the table.
"An' a—a—lot o' odd things 'round the house; an' the fact is, widdy, you see—that is, you know—was going to say if you'll agree"—the widower lost his words, and in his desperation hung his hat on the other knee and hitched a trifle nearer the ironing board.
"No, Hull Parsons, I don't see a single mite, nor I don't know a particle, an' I ain't agreein' the least bit," snapped the widow, pounding the creases out of the tablecloth.
"But say, widdy, don't get riled so soon," again ventured Parsons. "I was jest goin' to tell you that I've been proposing to Carpenter Brown to build a new—"
By this time the widow was glancing at him in a way he wished she wouldn't.