. An' a while ago I felt it me duty as a
fellow-woman to cough, or dhrop a broom--"

"Nonsense!" Jean interrupted tartly.

"Well, a dacint lad he is--f'r a sassenach--fair-spoken, wid a smile,
an' a pleasant word f'r th' likes iv me, an' always a josh on th' tip iv
his tongue."

Jean sniffed.

"Havin' buried four min, I know their ways," Mrs. Foley continued. "Whin
a man's eyes rest on a woman wishful, like a hungry dog's on a green
bone, that's thrue love."

"I'm not a bone!" Jean snapped.

"I am not makin' no cracks at th' build iv yez," Mrs. Foley assured her.
"A foine, well-growed shlip iv a gyurl ye are; an' a swate arrumful--"

"Mrs. Foley!" Jean cried, cheeks afire.

"Well, glory be, an' what else is a gyurl's waist an' a man's arrum
for?" Mrs. Foley demanded practically. "Sure, I am no quince-mouthed
owld maid, talkin' wide iv phwat ivery woman--maid, wife, an'
widdy--knows. I misdoubt, f'r all yer high head, ye're in love wid th'
lad. Then why don't ye let love take its coorse?"

"I'm not in love with him," Jean declared. "I don't want to see him. I
wish he'd go away."

"An' if he did ye'd be afther cryin' thim purty brown eyes out."

"I would _not_!" Jean asseverated. "He's nothing to me--less than
nothing."

"Well, well, God knows our hearts," Mrs. Foley commented piously. "Foour
min I've buried, an' I know their ways."

"You might have another husband if you liked," Jean told her by way of
counter-attack.

"Ye mane th' big Swede," Mrs. Foley responded calmly, "Maybe I could.
But I've had no luck keepin' min, an' he might not last either, though
him bein' phwat he is it might not matther. Still an' all, buryin'
husbands is onsettlin' to a woman."

"But Gus is so healthy!" Jean giggled.

"So was me poor b'ys that's gone," Mrs. Foley sighed. "They was that
healthy it hurt 'em. Health makes f'r divilmint, an' divilmint shortens
a man's days. I'm tellin' ye, ut's th' scrawny little divils that ain't
healthy enough to enj'y life that nawthin' shakes loose from ut. But
rip-roarin', full-blooded b'ys, like thim I had, they leaves a woman
lorn."

"Were your husbands _all_ Irish?" Jean asked.

"They wor," Mrs. Foley replied, "if Galway, Wicklow, Clare an' Down
breed Irishmin, God rest thim!"

"Well, Gus is a good worker. He's been with us for years."

"But ye could fire him when ye liked," Mrs. Foley pointed out. "A
husband an' a hired man is cats of diff'rent stripes. But they tell me
this