"But, lor'," I says, "you wouldn't go and keep that girl single! Think what harm you may do yourself. You can't be so cruel as to give up all idea of marrying agin! Why, you don't look forty." That wasn't an untruth, for she looked fifty. She tossed her head, and told me to go along. I didn't go along. I says, "There's no doubt lots of young fellows 'ud be glad enough of a good-looking wife like you, but mightn't care for a daughter as old as Miss Bessie." This seemed to strike her very much. I followed it up, got talking to her day after day, and always led the conversation to the same point. At last one day when I came home from work, she says, "It's all settled. Bessie's going to be married, and her Tom's coming here this evening." Then I went up to my own room, and laughed till I cried. Presently I heard the little girl run up-stairs as she hadn't run for many a long day, and I knew she'd gone to put on a smart ribbon for Tom's sake. She tapped at my door as she passed. Would I come down? somebody was there, and wanted to know me. I called out that I was busy, and couldn't come; and she went away. But after about an hour she came again. I was sitting in the dark, thinking of a good many things; and before I had time to speak she was down oh her knees beside me, and hiding her face.
"You told me you were busy," she said; "and here you are all in the dark and cold, and I can't bear any one to be dull or lonely to-night, because I'm so very, very happy. And I know it's all through you. Mother would never have given in of her own accord. You've always been my friend when I wanted one very badly; and now you must be angry with me, or you wouldn't stay away to-night. And you won't even speak to me. Oh, whatever I've done to vex you, don't think of it any more!"
She nestled up to me so close that her hair touched my coat-sleeve, and her pretty eyes looked up all swimming with tears. I ground my teeth, and clinched my hands, or—or I don't know what I mightn't ha' done. You see the joke of this, sir, don't you? Here was the girl crying, and asking me to forgive her, and like her a little; and there was I—not disliking her a bit all the time. Ha, ha, ha! I had a hearty laugh at her, and hurried with her down-stairs, and was introduced to Tom, and I talked to the old lady, and drank the young people's health, and was as happy as possible. And on the wedding-day I gave her away as if I had been her father; and I sang a song and danced: and, when the time came for Bessie to go away with her husband, I dried her eyes; for at the last moment the tender-hearted little thing broke down, and cried, and kissed us all, and asked her mother not to feel angry with her for leaving her all alone; and then the mother cried, and what with having so many eyes to wipe, I found myself wiping my own just as if it all weren't a tremendous joke.
How have they got on since? 'Bout as well as most people, I suppose: she loves him, and takes care of him. And the mother's softened down a bit since she's bin a grandmother. And as to my godson, there never was such a boy. I have him with me as much as possible, and he's beginning to see the joke of every thing almost as much as I do myself. And when I die, all this little place'll belong to him, and he'll be a rich man: so my death'll be the biggest joke of all, you see, sir.
IN DER SHWEED LONG AGO.
In der shweed long ago I dinked I vas shmard,
Und I dinked I did vant me a vife
To share all my money und sorrows und joys,
Und to helb me along drough my life.
I vanted a lady kind-hearted und goot,
Dot vas handsome und sensiple doo,
Dot cood blay der biano or cook a beefshdeak,
Darn my shdockings or made me a shdew.
She must nod be doo shmall-seized or neider doo dall,
Und she musn'd be old or doo young,
Und ven I vas shboking had visdom enuff
To alwoys kebd quied her tongue.
She musd nod be doo dark or agin be doo lighd—
A kinder bedwixed und bedween;
She musd nod knew doo leedle, or vorse, knew it all,
Or be vat some beebles call "creen."
She musd be good-nadured, vear always a shmile,
No madder of dings did vent wrong;
Ven my friends came around for to make me a call,
Be ready to sung dem a song.
Of der lodge bisness habben'd to kebd me oud lade,
Und I come valdzing home "dighdly-shlighd,"
She musd pet und caress me, und dank her good shdars
Dot I didn'd shdaid apsend all nighd.
In a vord, be berfecd—mind, feature, und form—
From her feet to der crown of her head.
Now, dot vas der damsel dot I had in view,
Und der von I vas villing to ved.
Dot's a long dime ago, and my head dot vas pald,
And I vas a pachelor shdill.
My gal, I hafe nefer saw shkibbing round loose—
Vat's more, I don'd dink dot I vill.