reception of his offering. "Sally Ruth, come to think of it, an Old
Maid's a miserable, stiff, scentless sort of a flower. You might
think, when you first glance at 'em, that they're just like any other
flowers, but they're not; they're without one single, solitary
redeemin' particle of sweetness! The Lord made 'em for a warnin' to
women.

"What good under God's sky does it do you to be an old maid, Sally
Ruth? You're flyin' in the face of Providence. No lady should fly in
the face of Providence--she'd a sight better fly to the bosom of some
man, where she belongs. This mawnin' I looked out of my window and my
eye fell upon these unfortunate flowers. Right away I thought of you,
livin' over here all alone and by yourself, with no man's bosom to
lean on--you haven't really got anything but a few fowls and the Lord
to love, have you? And, Sally Ruth, tears came to my eyes. Talk not of
tears till you have seen the tears of warlike men! I believe it would
almost scare you to death to see me cryin', Sally Ruth! I got to
thinkin', and I said to myself: 'Appleby Cartwright, you have always
done your duty like a man. You charged up to the very muzzle of Yankee
guns once, and you weren't scared wu'th a damn! Are you goin' to be
scared now? There's a plain duty ahead of you; Sally Ruth's a fine
figure of a woman, and she ought to have a man's bosom to lean on. Go
offer Sally Ruth yours!' So here I am, Sally Ruth!" said the major
valiantly.

Miss Sally Ruth regarded him critically; then:

"You're drunk, Appleby Cartwright, that's what's the matter with you.
You and your bosom! Why, it's not respectable to talk like that! At
your age, too! I'm ashamed of you!"