“Oh!” said Anne politely.
“Just a month. Thomas courted me for quite a spell, though. It was real
romantic.” Anne tried to picture Mrs. Skinner on speaking terms with romance
and failed.
“Oh?” she said again.
“Yes. Y’see, there was another man after me. Jog along, black mare. I’d been
a widder so long folks had given up expecting me to marry again. But when my
darter—she’s a schoolma’am like you—went out West to teach I felt real
lonesome and wasn’t nowise sot against the idea. Bime-by Thomas began to
come up and so did the other feller—William Obadiah Seaman, his name was.
For a long time I couldn’t make up my mind which of them to take, and they
kep’ coming and coming, and I kep’ worrying. Y’see, W.O. was rich—he had a
fine place and carried considerable style. He was by far the best match. Jog
along, black mare.”
“Why didn’t you marry him?” asked Anne.
“Well, y’see, he didn’t love me,” answered Mrs. Skinner, solemnly.
Anne opened her eyes widely and looked at Mrs. Skinner. But there was not a
glint of humor on that lady’s face. Evidently Mrs. Skinner saw nothing amusing
in her own case.
“He’d been a widder-man for three yers, and his sister kept house for him.
Then she got married and he just wanted some one to look after his house. It was
worth looking after, too, mind you that. It’s a handsome house. Jog along, black
mare. As for Thomas, he was poor, and if his house didn’t leak in dry weather it
was about all that could be said for it, though it looks kind of pictureaskew. But,
y’see, I loved Thomas, and I didn’t care one red cent for W.O. So I argued it out
with myself. ‘Sarah Crowe,’ say I—my first was a Crowe—‘you can marry your
rich man if you like but you won’t be happy. Folks can’t get along together in
this world without a little bit of love. You’d just better tie up to Thomas, for he
loves you and you love him and nothing else ain’t going to do you.’ Jog along,
black mare. So I told Thomas I’d take him. All the time I was getting ready I
never dared drive past W.O.‘s place for fear the sight of that fine house of his
would put me in the swithers again. But now I never think of it at all, and I’m
just that comfortable and happy with Thomas. Jog along, black mare.”
“How did William Obadiah take it?” queried Anne.
“Oh, he rumpussed a bit. But he’s going to see a skinny old maid in
Millersville now, and I guess she’ll take him fast enough. She’ll make him a
better wife than his first did. W.O. never wanted to marry her. He just asked her