tulation.

"And I say marrying a widow are like getting a rose some other fellow
have clipped and thorned to wear in your buttonhole, Crabtree; they
ain't nothing like 'em." Thus poet and realist made acknowledgment
each after his and her own order of mind, but actuated by the
identical feeling of contented self-congratulation.

"I'm a-holding in for fear if I breathe on this promise of Mis'
Plunkett's it'll take and blow away. But you all have heard it spoke,"
said the merry old bachelor in a voice that positively trembled with
emotion as he turned and mechanically began to sort over a box of
clothespins, mixed as to size and variety.

"Shoo, Crabbie, don't begin by bein' afraid of your wife, jest handle
'em positive but kind and they'll turn your flapjacks peaceable and
butter 'em all with smiles," and Mr. Rucker beamed on his friend
Crabtree as he wound one of his wife's apron strings all around one of
his long fingers, a habit he had that amused him and he knew in his
secret heart teased her.

"Now just look at Bob tracking down Providence Road a-whistling like a
partridge in the wheat for Louisa Helen. They've got love's young
dream so bad they had oughter have sassaprilla gave for it," and the
poet cast a further glance at the widow, who only laughed and looked
indulgently down the road at the retreating form of the gawky young
Adonis.

"Hush up, Cal Rucker, and go begin chopping up fodder to feed with
come supper time," answered his wife, her usual attitude of brisk
generalship coming into her capable voice and eyes after their
softening under the strain of the varied emotions of the last half
hour in the store. "Let's me and you get mops and broom and begin on
a-cleaning up for Mr. Crabtree before his moving, Lou. I reckon you
want to go over his things before you marry him anyway, and I'll help
you. I found everything Cal Rucker had a disgrace, with Mr.
Satterwhite so neat, too." And not at all heeding the flame of
embarrassment that communicated itself from the face of the widow to
that of the sensitive Mr. Crabtree, Mrs. Rucker descended the steps of
the store, taking Mrs. Plunkett with her, for to Mrs. Rucker the state
of matrimony, though holy, was still an institution in the realm of
realism and to be treated with according frankness.

Meanwhile over in the barn at the Briars Uncle Tucker was at work
rooting up the foundations upon which had been built his lifetime of
lordship over his fields. In t