had everything ready."

"Now, you don't tell me!"

"Yes, and the only man I ever loved died--died a week before the day we
had set."

"It must have purty near finished ye off."

"Yes, I should have been glad to die myself."

"Well, now, Miss Butterworth, if ye s'pose that Jim Fenton wouldn't
bring that man to life if he could, and go to your weddin' singin'
hallelujer, you must think he's meaner nor a rat. But ye know he's dead,
an' ye never can see him no more. He's a goner, an' ye're all alone, an'
here's a man as'll take care on ye fur him; an' it does seem to me that
if he was a reasonable man he'd feel obleeged for what I'm doin'."

Miss Butterworth could not help smiling at Jim's earnestness and
ingenuity, but his proposition was so sudden and strange, and she had so
long ago given up any thought of marrying, that it was impossible for
her to give him an answer then, unless she should give him the answer
which he deprecated.

"Jim," she said at last, "I believe you are a good man. I believe you
are honorable, and that you mean well toward me; but we have been
brought up very differently, and the life into which you wish to bring
me would be very strange to me. I doubt whether I could be happy in it."

Jim saw that it would not help him to press his suit further at that
time, and recognized the reasonableness of her hesitation. He knew he
was rough and unused to every sort of refinement, but he also knew that
he was truthful, and honorable, and faithful; and with trust in his own
motives and trust in Miss Butterworth's good sense and discretion, he
withheld any further exhibition of his wish to settle the affair on the
spot.

"Well, Miss Butterworth," he said, rising, "ye know yer own business,
but there'll be a house, an' a stoop, an' a bureau, an' a little ladder
for flowers, an' Mike Conlin will draw the lumber, an' Benedict'll put
it together, an' Jim Fenton'll be the busiest and happiest man in a
hundred mile."

As Jim rose, Miss Butterworth also stood up, and looked up into his
face. Jim regarded her with tender admiration.

"Do ye know I take to little things wonderful, if they're only alive?"
said he. "There's Benedict's little boy! I feel 'im fur hours arter I've
had 'im in my arms, jest because he's alive an' little. An' I don't
know--I--I vow, I guess I better go away. Can you git the clo'es made in
two days, so I can take 'em home with me? Can't ye put 'em out round?
I'll pay ye, ye know."