and homelike, the
linen as white, the garden as green, the chickens as fat, the geese
as noisy, as in the days when her eyes were less grave and her lips
unknown to sighs. And what was it all about but the simple matter
of a marriage--Sam's marriage? Sam, the big, genial, curly-headed
only son of the house of Norris, who saw fit to take unto himself as
a life partner tiny, delicate, college-bred Della Kennedy, who
taught school over on the Sixth Concession, and knew more about
making muslin shirtwaists than cooking for the threshers, could
quote from all the mental and moral philosophers, could wrestle with
French and Latin verbs, and had memorized half the things Tennyson
and Emerson had ever written, but could not milk a cow or churn up
a week's supply of butter if the executioner stood ready with his
axe to chop off her pretty yellow mop of a head in case she failed.
How old Billy stormed when Sam started "keeping company" with her!

"Nice young goslin' fer you to be a-goin' with!" he scowled when
Sam would betake himself towards the red gate every evening after
chores were done. "Nice gal fer you to bring home to help yer
mother; all she'll do is to play May Queen and have the hull lot of
us a-trottin' to wait on her. You'll marry a farmer's gal, _I_ say,
one that's brung up like yerself and yer mother and me, or I tell
yer yer shan't have one consarned acre of this place. I'll leave
the hull farm to yer sister Jane's man. _She_ married somethin'
like--decent, stiddy, hard-working man is Sid Simpson, and _he'll_
git what land I have to leave."

"I quite know that, dad," Sam blazed forth, irritably; "so does he.
That's what he married Janie for--the whole township knows that.
He's never given her a kind word, or a holiday, or a new dress,
since they were married--eight years. She slaves and toils, and he
rich as any man need be; owns three farms already, money in the
bank, cattle, horses--everything. But look at Janie; she looks as
old as mother. I pity _his_ son, if he ever has one. Thank heaven,
Janie has no children!"

"Come, come, father--Sam!" a patient voice would interrupt, and
Mrs. Norris would appear at the door, vainly endeavoring to make
peace. "I'll own up to both of you I'd sooner have a farmer's
daughter for mine-in-law than Della Kennedy. But, father, he ain't
married yet, and--"

"Ain't married, eh?" blurted in old Bill. "But he's a-goin' to
marry her. But I'll tell you both right here, she'll