believe you can think of anything except that child."

"So more I can!" said the man, looking at her with bright, hard eyes.
"Nothing else! She is my life!" and with that he turned hastily to the
door and was gone.

"His life!" repeated Abby, gazing after him as he strode away down the
street. "Much like his life she is, the pretty creetur! And she
saying that fiddle was her life, only yesterday! How are all these
lives going to work together? that's what I want to know!" And she
shook her head, and went back to her spinning. There was no doubt in
Abby's mind about Marie's answer, when she grew a little used to the
new idea. Her silent suitor was many years older than she, it was
true, but as she said to him, what a chance for the friendless
wanderer! And if he loved her now, how much more he would love her
when he came to know her well, and see all her pretty ways about the
house, like a kitten or a bird. And she would respect and admire him,
that was certain, Abby thought. He was a pictur' of a man, when he got
his store clothes on, and nobody had ever had a word to say against
him. He was no talker, but some thought that was no drawback in the
married state. Abby remembered how Sister Lizzie's young husband had
tormented her with foolish questions during the week he bad spent with
them at the time of the marriage: a spruce young clerk from a city
store, not knowing one end of a hoe from the other, and asking
questions all the time, and not remembering anything you told him long
enough for it to get inside his head; though there was room enough
inside for consid'able many ideas, Abby thought. Yes, certainly, if so
be one had to be portioned with a husband, the one that said least
would be the least vexation in the end. So she was content, on the
whole, and glad that Marie took it all so quietly and sensibly, and