' last chapter?" hoo
said.

'"Aw cannot say as 'ow I do. What is it?"

'"It's that," said hoo, puttin' her little Bible i' my hand.

'And when I tuk it aw read, "Many waters cannot quench love."

'"Well," aw sez, "what abaat that?"

'"Why," hoo cried, "thaa'rt lettin' Rehoboth waters quench thine."

'"Haa doesto mean?" aw axed.

'"Why, thaa willn't be dipped for me."'

Here Mr. Penrose broke into a hearty laugh, and complimented
Betty, telling her she was the sort of woman to make 'converts to
the cause.' Then old Malachi put on his wisest look, and
continued:

'Mr. Penrose, aw mut as weel tell yo' afore yo' get wed, that it's
no use feightin' agen a woman. They're like Bill o' th' Goit's
donkey, they'll goa their own gate, an' th' more yo' bother wi'
'em th' wur they are. A mon's wife mak's him. Hoo shap's
everythin' for him, his clooas, his gate, and his religion an' o'.
Talk abaat clay i' th' honds o' th' potter, why it's naught to a
man i' th' honds o' his missus.'

'So you were baptized for the love of Betty, were you, Malachi?'

'Yi; bud I were no hypocrite abaat it, for aw told her aw should
never be a Calvin, an' aw never have bin. Doesto remember what
thaa said, Betty, when aw tell'd thee aw should never be a
Calvin?'

'Nay, aw forget, lad; it's so long sin'.'

'Bud aw haven't forgetten. Thaa said, "Never mind, thaa's no need
to tell mi faither that; thaa can keep it to thisel." Aw'll tell
yo' what, Mr. Penrose, a woman's as deep as th' Longridge pit
shaft.'

'Well, thaa's never rued o'er joinin' Rehoboth, Malachi.'

'I've never rued o'er weddin' thee, lass; an' aw think if thaa'd
gone to a wur place nor Rehoboth aw should ha' followed thee.
Leastways, I shouldn't ha' liked thee to 'a' tempted me.'

'But thaa's not tell'd him all, Malachi.'

'Nowe, lass, aw hevn't, but aw will. Have yo' seen yon rose-tree
that grows under the winder--that tree that is welly full durin'
th' season?'

The minister nodded.

'Well, when aw fetched her fro' her faither, hoo said aw mun tak a
flaar an' o', as aw coomd for one on th' neet as aw geet her. So
aw took one o' th' owd felley's rose-trees, an' planted it under
aar winder theer, and theer it's stood for nigh on forty year,
come blow, come snow, come sun, come shade, an' the roses are
still as fresh an' sweet as ever. An' so art thaa, owd lass,' and
Malachi got up and kissed into bloom the faded, yet healthy, cheek
of Betty, his conquest of whom he