'I don't need ye any
more, an' I'll send ye a bushel o' potatoes by 'n by. Good day.'
"Not a word o' thanks!" the tinker exclaimed. "Wrath o' God! I
fear there is but one thing would soften him."
"And what is that?"
"A club," said Darrel. "But God forgive me! I must put away
anger. Soon it went about that Brooke was to marry the widow. All
were delighted, for each party would be in the nature of a
punishment. God's justice! they did deserve each other."
Darrel shook with happiness, and relighted his pipe.
"Mayhap ye've seen the dear lady," Darrel went on. "She is large,
bony, quarrelsome--a weaver of some fifty years--neither amiable
nor fair to look upon. Every one knows her--a survivor o' two
husbands an' many a battle o' high words.
"'Is it a case o' foreclosure, Brooke?' says I to him one day in
the road.
"'No, sor,' he snaps out; 'I had a little mortgage on her
furniture, but I'm going t' marry her for a helpmeet. She is a
great worker an' neat an' savin'.'
"'An' headstrong,' says I. 'Ye must have patience with her.'
"'I can manage her,' said Brooke. 'The first morning after we are
married I always say to my wife, "Here's the breeches; now if ye
want 'em, take 'em, an' I'll put on the dress.
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