"'I don't know,' said the sharp voice, 'I had not thought of changing
my condition.'

"'All you would have to do,' said Toby pleadingly, 'would be to stir
the soup for my grandchildren's dinner, while I knit the stockings.'

"There came a sound like the smacking of lips out of the darkness
within the house. 'Oh! you have grandchildren; I forgot,' said the
voice; 'how many?'

"'Six,' replied Toby.

"'I shall be pleased to marry you,' cried the voice; and Toby heard
the squeaking of shoes, as if the widow were coming.

"'When shall we be married?' said the sharp voice right in Toby's ear.

"He jumped so that he could not answer for a minute. 'Well,' said he
finally--'I don't want to hurry you, Mrs. Clover-leaf, but the soup is
to be made for dinner, and if I don't finish the pair of stockings I
am on to-day, my eldest grandchild will have to go barefoot. A pair of
stockings only lasts one a week.' And Toby sighed so pitifully that it
ought to have touched any widow's heart.

"The widow laughed. Toby felt rather hurt that she should. He did not
know of any joke. It was a curious kind of a laugh, too; as bad in its
way as her voice. But what she said the next minute set matters right.

"'Let us go and get married, then,' said she, 'and I will go right