btree I could all good and
proper move him over to my house and that would leave his little
three-room cottage hitched on to the store to move 'em into
comfortable. They have got a heap of things, but most of 'em could be
packed away in the barn here, what they won't let us keep for 'em. If
Mr. Crabtree has got to take holt of my farm it will keep him away
from the store, and he could give Mr. Tucker a half-interest cheap to
run it for him and that will leave Rose Mary free to help him and tend
the old folks. What do you all neighbors think of it?"

"Now wait just a minute, Lou Plunkett," said Mr. Crabtree in a radiant
voice as he came out from around the counter and stood before her with
his eyes fairly glowing with his emotion. "Have you done decided
_yourself_? This is twixt me and you, and I don't want no Sweetbriar
present for a wife if I can help it. Have _you_ done decided?"

"Yes, Mr. Crabtree I have, and I had oughter stopped and told you, but
I wanted to go quick as I could to see Mr. Tucker and Rose Mary. He
gave consent immediately, and looked like Rose Mary couldn't do
nothing but talk about you and how good you was. I declare I began to
get kinder proud about you right then and there, 'fore I'd even told
you as I'd have you." And the demure little widow cast a smile out
from under a curl that had fallen down into her bright eyes that was
so young and engaging that Mr. Crabtree had to lean against the
counter to support himself. His storm-tossed single soul was fairly
blinded at even this far sight of the haven of his double desires, but
it was just as well that he was dumb for joy, for Mrs. Rucker was more
than equal to the occasion.

"Well, glory be, Lou Plunkett, if that ain't a fine piece of news!"
she exclaimed as she bestowed a hearty embrace upon the widow and one
almost as hearty upon the overcome Mr. Crabtree. "And you can't know
till you've tried what a pleasure and a comfort a second husband can
be if you manage 'em right. Single folks a-marrying are likely to gum
up the marriage certificate with some kind of a mistake until it
sticks like fly-paper, but a experienced choice generally runs smooth
like melted butter." And with a not at all unprecedented feminine
change of front Mrs. Rucker substituted a glance of unbridled pride
for the one of scorn she had lately bestowed upon the poet, under
which his wilted aspect disappeared and he also began to bloom out
with the joy of approval and congra