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."