Presently he stopped for a moment, and I thought, ‘now or never,’ and began.
“I want to ask you, Joe, is your sister engaged to any one?”
“Not she,” said Joe, looking up rather surprised; “why, she’s only eighteen come Lady-day!”
“What do you think of Mr. Warton?” said I.
“Our Parson!” laughed Joe; “that is a good ’un. Why he has got a sweetheart of his own. Let alone that he’d know better than to court a farmer’s daughter.”
“Are you sure?” said I; “your sister isn’t like most girls, I can tell you.”
“Yes, I tell you,” said Joe, “he’s no more in love with our Lu than you are.”
“Then I’m over head and ears in love with her, and that’s all about it,” said I, and I looked straight across at him, though it wasn’t an easy thing to do. But I felt I was in for it, and I should be much better for having it over.
Joe gave a start, and a long whistle; and then a puff or two at his pipe, staring at me right in the eyes till I felt my head swimming. But I wasn’t going to look down just then; if he had looked me right through he couldn’t have found any thing I was ashamed of, so far as his sister was concerned, and I felt he had a right to look as hard as he pleased, and that I was bound not to shirk it.
Presently he got up, and took a turn or two up and down the kitchen. Then he stopped--
“Come, give us your hand, Dick,” said he, holding out his, and looking quite bright again; “I knew you would be all on the square, let be what might.”
“Well, I won’t deceive you, Joe,” said I, “I don’t deserve any credit for that.”
“Why, I meant to have spoken to her half-a-dozen times, only one little thing or another stopped it. But I’m very glad of it, for I think you ought to know it first.”
“Well, well,” said he, coming and sitting down again, and staring into the fire, “it’s a precious bad job. Let’s think a bit how we be to tackle it.”
“I know,” said I, drawing up a bit--for I didn’t feel flattered at this speech--“that I’m not in the same position you are in, and that you’ve a right to look for a much richer man than I am for your sister, but--”
“Oh, bother that,” said Joe, beginning to smoke again, and still staring into the fire; “I wasn’t thinking of that. ’Twill be just as bad for we, let who will take her. Here’s mother getting a’most blind, and ’mazing forgetful-like about every thing. Who’s to read her her chapter, or to find her spectacles? and what in the world’s to become of the keys? I be no use to mother by myself, you see,” said Joe, “and I couldn’t abide to see the old lady put about at her time of life; let alone how the pickling and preserving is to go on.”