"What could he do?" I asked her, smiling.
"Snuff a candle at fifty yards, or drive a nail at forty. He nach'elly scorned to bring home a squirrel shot back of the ears. He killed four men in fair knife fightin', an' each time come free in co'te. He was six foot in the clean, could hug like a bar, and he wa'n't skeered of anything that drawed the breath of life."
"Tell me, Aunt Mandy," I said, "tell me how he came courting you, anyway."
"He never did no great at co'tin'," said she, grinning. "He just come along, an' he sot eyes on me. Then he sot eyes on me again. I sot eyes on him, too."
"One evenin', says he, 'Mandy, gal, I'm goin' to marry you all right soon.'
"Says he, '_Yes_, I air!' I jest laughed at him then and started to run away, but he jumped and ketched me--I told you he could hug like a bar. Mebbe I wasn't hard to ketch. Then he holds me right tight, an' says he,' Gal, quit this here foolin'. I'm goin' to marry you, you hear!--then maybe he kisses me--law! I dunno! Whut business is it o' yourn, anyhow? That's about all there was to it. I didn't seem to keer. But that," she concluded, "was a real _man_. He shore had my other two men plumb faded."
"What became of your last husband, Mandy?" I asked, willing to be amused for a time. "Did he die?"
"Deevorced, hell! No, I tole you, I up an' left him."
"Didn't God join you in holy wedlock, Mandy?"
"Yep. And them ain't holy none--leastways in Missouri. But say, man, look yere, it ain't God that marries folks, and it ain't Jestices of the Peace--it's _theirselves_."
I pondered for a moment. "But your vow--your promise?"
"My promise? Whut's the word of a woman to a man? Whut's the word of a man to a woman? It ain't words, man, it's _feelin's_."
"That's all right, if your _feelin's_ is all right. The Church is all right, too. I ain't got no kick. All I'm sayin' to you is, folks marries _theirselves_."
I pondered yet further. "Mandy," said I, "suppose you were a man, and your word was given to a girl, and you met another girl and couldn't get her out of your head, or out of your heart--you loved the new one most and knew you always would--what would you do?"
But the Sphinx of womanhood may lie under linsey-woolsey as well as silk. "Man," said she, rising and knocking her pipe against her bony knee, "you talk like a fool. If my first husband was alive, he might maybe answer that for you."