along, black mare."

"Why didn't you marry him?" asked Anne.

"Well, y'see, he didn't love me," answered Mrs. Skinner, solemnly.

Anne opened her eyes widely and looked at Mrs. Skinner. But there was
not a glint of humor on that lady's face. Evidently Mrs. Skinner saw
nothing amusing in her own case.

"He'd been a widder-man for three yers, and his sister kept house for
him. Then she got married and he just wanted some one to look after his
house. It was worth looking after, too, mind you that. It's a handsome
house. Jog along, black mare. As for Thomas, he was poor, and if his
house didn't leak in dry weather it was about all that could be said for
it, though it looks kind of pictureaskew. But, y'see, I loved Thomas,
and I didn't care one red cent for W.O. So I argued it out with myself.
'Sarah Crowe,' say I--my first was a Crowe--'you can marry your rich man
if you like but you won't be happy. Folks can't get along together in
this world without a little bit of love. You'd just better tie up to
Thomas, for he loves you and you love him and nothing else ain't going
to do you.' Jog along, black mare. So I told Thomas I'd take him. All
the time I was getting ready I never dared drive past W.O.'s place for
fear the sight of that fine house of his would put me in the swithers
again. But now I never think of it at all, and I'm just that comfortable
and happy with Thomas. Jog along, black mare."

"How did William Obadiah take it?" queried Anne.

"Oh, he rumpussed a bit. But he's going to see a skinny old maid in
Millersville now, and I guess she'll take him fast enough. She'll make
him a better wife than his first did. W.O. never wanted to marry her.
He just asked her to marry him 'cause his father wanted him to, never
dreaming but that she'd say 'no.' But mind you, she said 'yes.' There
was a predicament for you. Jog along, black mare. She was a great
housekeeper, but most awful mean. She wore the same bonnet for eighteen
years. Then she got a new one and W.O. met her on the road and didn't
know her. Jog along, black mare. I feel that I'd a narrer escape. I
might have married him and been most awful miserable, like my poor
cousin, Jane Ann. Jane Ann married a rich man she didn't care anything
about, and she hasn't the life of a dog. She come to see me last week
and says, says she, 'Sarah Skinner, I envy you. I'd rather live in a
little hut on the side of the road with a man I was fond of than in my
big house with the