so young and engaging that Mr. Crabtree had to lean against the
counter to support himself. His storm-tossed single soul was fairly
blinded at even this far sight of the haven of his double desires, but
it was just as well that he was dumb for joy, for Mrs. Rucker was more
than equal to the occasion.

"Well, glory be, Lou Plunkett, if that ain't a fine piece of news!"
she exclaimed as she bestowed a hearty embrace upon the widow and one
almost as hearty upon the overcome Mr. Crabtree. "And you can't know
till you've tried what a pleasure and a comfort a second husband can
be if you manage 'em right. Single folks a-marrying are likely to gum
up the marriage certificate with some kind of a mistake until it
sticks like fly-paper, but a experienced choice generally runs smooth
like melted butter." And with a not at all unprecedented feminine
change of front Mrs. Rucker substituted a glance of unbridled pride
for the one of scorn she had lately bestowed upon the poet, under
which his wilted aspect disappeared and he also began to bloom out
with the joy of approval and congratulation.

"And I say marrying a widow are like getting a rose some other fellow
have clipped and thorned to wear in your buttonhole, Crabtree; they
ain't nothing like 'em." Thus poet and realist made acknowledgment
each after his and her own order of mind, but actuated by the
identical feeling of contented self-congratulation.

"I'm a-holding in for fear if I breathe on this promise of Mis'
Plunkett's it'll take and blow away. But you all have heard it spoke,"
said the merry old bachelor in a voice that positively trembled with
emotion as he turned and mechanically began to sort over a box of
clothespins, mixed as to size and variety.