accustomed and the right to
visit and entertain her friends, which meant every farmer's wife and
all the maiden sisters in Oakville. "And then," she continued, "there
are always little perquisites which a housekeeper has a right to look
for--" Mr. Weeks irritably put a period to this phase of diplomacy by
saying, "Well, well, Cynthy, the stage will be along in a couple of
hours. We'll put you and your things aboard, and you can go on with
what you call your negotiations at Cousin Abiram's. I can tell you one
thing though--if you write any such letter to Holcroft, you'll never
hear from him again."

Compelled to give up all these preliminaries, but inwardly resolving to
gain each point by a nagging persistence of which she was a mistress,
she finally declared that she "must have writings about one thing which
couldn't be left to any man's changeful mind. He must agree to give me
the monthly salary he names for at least a year."

Weeks thought a moment, and then, with a shrewd twinkle in his eyes,
admitted, "It would be a good thing to have Holcroft's name to such an
agreement. Yes, you might try that on, but you're taking a risk. If
you were not so penny-wise and pound-foolish, you'd go at once and
manage to get him to take you for 'better or worse.'"

"You--misjudge me, Cousin Lemuel," replied the widow, bridling and
rocking violently. "If there's any such taking to be done, he must get
me to take him."

"Well, well, write your letter about a year's engagement. That'll
settle you for a twelvemonth, at least."

Mrs. Mumpson again began the slow, laborious construction of a letter
in which she dwelt upon the uncertainties of life, her "duty to her
offspring," and the evils of "vicissitude." "A stable home is woman's
chief desire," she concluded, "and you will surely agree to pay me the
salary you have said for a year."

When Holcroft read this second epistle he so far yielded to his first
impulse that he half tore the sheet, then paused irresolutely. After a
few moments he went to the door and looked out upon his acres. "It'll
soon be plowing and planting time," he thought. "I guess I can stand
her--at least I can try it for three months. I'd like to turn a few
more furrows on the old place," and his face softened and grew wistful
as he looked at the bare, frost-bound fields. Suddenly it darkened and
grew stern as he muttered, "But I'll put my hand to no more paper with
that Weeks tribe."

He strode t