"Now, who had you sorted out to pick from?" and Andrew leaned back comfortably in his chair. His wife punched up her pillow to lift her head higher.
"Well, there's the widows first. I've sorted them over and over till I've got 'em down to four that ain't wasteful cooks nor got too many relations. There's Widow Jackson--"
"She don't go to our church. What about the old maids?"
"I don't take much stock in old maids. The likeliest person I know, and I wouldn't call her an old maid, either, is Abilonia Supe. Her mother was counted the best breadmaker in North Sudbury, and Abby was the neatest darner in her class at sewing school."
"But, why, Marthy, isn't Abby promised to Willy Parks?"
"No; I asked Mis' Parks about that yisterday. She said Willy had been waitin' on Abby for four or five years, but they'd had a misunderstandin' this summer, and it was broke off for good."
"He ought to be horsewhipped!" said Andrew warmly. "Abilonia Supe is the finest girl in North Sudbury."
"Ye-es," admitted Marthy reluctantly. "You're sure she wouldn't be too young for you, are you?"
"Too young? For me? I don't want to marry my grandmother, I guess. And I'm not Methusalem myself," and he shook the stoop out of his back and spread the thin hair across his bald spot. His wife looked at him in wondering surprise.
"Abby has had rather a hard time since her mother died," she said weakly.
"Indeed she has, and she deserves to have it easy now. She needs somebody to take care of her if that scamp--and she isn't bad lookin', either--Abby isn't. I tell you, Marthy, there isn't your beat in the hull town for managin' forethoughtedness. Sick or well, you've allus ben a captain at managin'. Now, come to think it over, this isn't a bad idee. But, how'll we git her consent? Maybe I'd better step over and--well--ruther lead up to the subject. I might--"
"That dish water's a-b'ilin', Andrew. It's a-b'ilin' hard. I c'n hear it."
Andrew started briskly for the kitchen, and the dishes clattered merrily. An hour later he framed himself in the doorway in his Sunday clothes.
"I have to go down to the store this afternoon to git that baggin' for the hops, and I can jest as well 's not go round by Supes' and--sort of--talk that over with Abby--and tell her your wishes. I never deny you nothin', Marthy; you know that. If it'll be any comfort to you, I'll jest brace up and do it, no matter how hard it is."