“Shall I kiss her?” thought he. “No, no, it’s a leetle too early for that; but I’ll tell her I love her.” At this thought his heart went bump! bump! bump! harder than ever.
“Hannah!” he exclaimed, in a squeaking voice, and stopped short.
“Hey, Josh!” said Hannah.
“Hannah, I—I—” he rolled up the whites of his eyes, in a most supplicating leer, but the word stuck in his throat. Hannah looked directly in his face; he was in a dreadful puzzle what to say, for he was obliged to say something. His eye fell by accident on a gridiron hanging in the chimney corner:
“What a terrible crack your gridiron’s got in it!” exclaimed he.
“Poh!” said Hannah.
Here the conversation came again to a dead stop, for Josh had so exhausted himself in this effort to break the ice, that he was not master of his faculties for several minutes; and when he came fairly to his senses, he found himself counting the tickings of an old wooden clock that stood in the corner. He counted and counted till he had numbered three hundred and ninety-seven ticks, when he luckily heard a cow lowing out of doors.
“Ugh!” said he, “whose cow’s that?”
“Drummer Tucker’s,” replied Hannah.
“Drummer Tucker’s! Well, I want to know!”