"I believe, Jemima, you are right, after all," said he; "but still it is a bad business; for, if we add five or six more children to that small army, we may come to starve."
"You can begin business again as a merchant (but not in the hosiery way) with your two thousand, and I shall be as frugal a wife as ever made the two ends of coming and going out meet."
Caleb meditated.
"You are right again, Jemima," said he; "for, after all, I have not been happy under the trade of wiving I have driven for so many years—always idle, and pointed out as one who lives on the means of his wives—so, to be sure, I'll immediately betake myself to an honourable calling, and before I die I may yet acquire the reputation of what is called a respectable member of society. For true it is," he added, "that a fortune-hunter, even if he has run down the game of thousands, is only a fortune-hunter to the end of the chapter. Out of my evil, you see, has come my good; and you, who a little ago seemed my bad angel, have turned out to be my good. So here be all our strife ended."
And another embrace settled the affair.
"Now," said Caleb, "you'll be kind enough to tell me the names of these children. By my faith, they are pretty ones—as pretty as my own!"
"This is William—this is George—this is Andrew—this is Mary—and this is Margaret."
"Well, we must fall upon some way of distinguishing those of mine and those of yours, who carry the same name. Let it be your George and my George, your Andrew and my Andrew. I see now no difficulty about the matter."
"Neither do I," answered Jemima. "All we have to provide against is to avoid calling our own mutual children George or Andrew, for a third of the name wouldn't do."
"Neither it would," rejoined he.