“Well, I b'lieve I'll git ter bed.”
“Wait, mother, let me help yer,” said her daughter, hastily throwing aside her knitting.
“We'll both help ye, mother,” said her son, putting one arm gently around her as she arose from her chair.
“Well, well,” she laughed, with soft content. “I sh'll be well waited on with two children 'stid er one; but none too many—none too many.”
Zekle White had made brave progress from the chair by the door to the other rocker, drawn closely beside that of Mandy Calline; and he was saying, in tones that suggested an effort: “I've seed other young ladies which may be better-lookin' in other folkses' eyes, 'n' they may be more suiterbler ter marry, but not fer me. Thar ain't but one gurl in this roun' worl' that I'd ask ter be my wife, 'n', Mandy Calline, I've ben keepin' comp'ny wi' you long ernuff fer ye ter know that ye air th' one.” He swallowed, and went on: “I've got my house nigh erbout done. Ter be sho', 'tain't es fine es this un, nor es big; but I kin add ter it, 'n' jest es soon es it is done I want ter put my wife in it. Now, Mandy Calline, what yer say—will yer be my wife?”
Mandy Calline looked shy—much like a young colt when it is going to break out of harness. She rocked back and forth with short spasmodic jerks, and twisted her handkerchief into all conceivable shapes.
“Yer don't know how sot on it I am,” he went on; “'n' all day long I'm er-thinkin' how nice it 'll be when I'm er-workin', ploughin' maybe, up one row 'n' down ernuther, 'n' watchin' th' sun go down, 'n' lookin' forerd ter goin' ter th' house 'n' hev er nice little wife ter meet me, wi' everything tidied up 'n' cheerful 'n' comf'ble.” Mandy Calline simply drooped her head lower, and twisted her handkerchief tighter. “Mandy Calline, don't yer say 'no,'” he said. “I love yer too well ter give yer up easy; 'n' I swear ef ye don't say `yes,' I'll set fire 'n' burn up th' new house, fer no other 'oman sha'n't never live there. I'm er-waitin', Mandy Calline, 'n' don't, don't tell me no.”
“Well, Zekle,” she began, with much hesitation, “bein' es how I don't see no use in burnin' up er right new house, 'n' it not even finished, I guess es how—maybe—in erbout two or three years—”
“Two or three thunderations!” he cried out, ecstatically, seizing both her hands in his. “Yer mean two or three weeks! Mandy Calline, do ye mean ya'as, ye'll marry me? I want ter hear ye say it.”
“Ya'as, Zekle,” she said, shyly. “Whoopee! I feel like I'd like ter jump up 'n' knock my heels tergether 'n' yell!”