"I wish it had been my forten to carry you into the house," says John.
"So do I," says the widow; "but let us be thankful that the wicissitudes of life have driv us together at last."
"At last, sure enough," says John; "you speak wisdom when you don't know on 't, you dove of doves!"
She bent her eyes upon him in tender inquiry, in answer to which he said, "At last it is, sweetheart, for you don't know that I loved you when I was a youngster not more 'n a dozen year old!"
"Loved me, captain! It isn't creditable! Tell me all about it. Are you sure?"
"Just as sure on 't as I be of anything; just as sure as I be that I love you now."
"Tell me all about it, I'm dying to know; it seems like some wild novelty, to be sure."
"Yes, you're right, it is like a novelty if it was only writ out, and it don't seem creditable, but it's true; I'm just as sure on 't as I be of anything,—just as sure as I be that I love you now!"
"O captain!"
"Yes, my own Rose, I loved you when I was a little lad,—loved you just as I did the mornin' star,—loved you and worshipped you from far away. What a spry little thing you was, a-hoppin' about among the mahogany and walnut stuff like a young sparrer! O, how I've watched and follered you with my eyes when you didn't dream on 't!"