A woman may be just as big a fool at sour seventy as she was at sweet
seventeen. In fact, you can say about 'em, that a woman's always a woman,
so long as the breath bides in her body; and my sister, Mary, weren't any
exception to the rule. You see, there was only us two, and when my parents
died, I married, and took on Brownberry Farm and my sister, who shared and
shared alike with me, took over our other farm, by the name of Little
Sherberton, t'other side the Dart. A very good farmer, too, she was--knew
as much as I did about things, by which I mean sheep and cattle; while she
was still cleverer at crops, and I never rose oats like she did at Little
Sherberton, nor lifted such heavy turnips as what she did.
Mary explained it very simply.
"You'm just so clever as me," she said, "but you'm not so generous. You
ain't got my powers of looking forward, and you hate to part with money in
your pocket for the sake of money that's to be there. In a word, you're
narrow-minded, and don't spend enough on manure, Rupert; and till you put
it on thicker and ban't feared of paying for lime, you'll never get a root
fit to put before a decent sheep."
There was truth in it I do believe, for I was always a bit prone, like my
father before me, to starve the land, against my reason. You'd think that
was absurd, and yet you'll hardly find a man, even among the upper
educated people, who haven't got his little weak spots like that, and
don't do some things that he knows be silly, even while he's doing 'em.
They cast him down at the moment; and he'll even make resolves to be more
open-handed, or more close-fisted, as the case may be, but the weakness
lies in your nature, and you could no more cure me from being small-minded
with my manure than you could have cured Mary from shivering to her spine
every time she saw a single magpie, or spilled the salt.
A very impulsive woman, and yet, as you may say, a very keen and clever
one in many respects. I don't think she ever wanted to marry and certainly
I can call home no adventures in the way of courting that fell to her lot.
And yet a pleasant woman, though not comely. In fact, without unkindness,
she might have been called a terribly ugly woman. Yellow as a guinea, with
gingery hair, yellow eyes, and no figure to save her. You would have
thought her property might have drawn an adventurer or two, for Little
Sherberton was a tenement farm and Mary's very own; but nobody came along,
or if they did, they only looked and passed by; and though Mary had no
objection to men in general, she didn't encourage them. But in her case,
without a doubt, they'd have needed all the encouragement she could give
'em, besides the property, to have a dash at her.
So she bided a spinster woman, and took very kindly to my childer, who
would run up over to her when they could, for they loved her. And by the
same token, my second daughter, by the name of Daisy, was drowned in Dart,
poor little maid, trying to go up to her aunt. My wife had whipped her for
naughtiness, and the child--only ten she was--went off to get comfort from
Mary and fell in the river with none to save her. So I've paid my toll to
Dart, you see, like many another man in these parts.
Well, my sister, same as a good many other terrible ugly women, got better
to look at as she grew older; and after she was sixty, her hair turned
white and she filled out a bit. Her voice was always a pleasant thing
about her. It reflected her nature, which was kindly, though excitable.
But her people never left her. She'd got a hind and his wife--Noah and
Jane Sweet by name; and he was head man; and his son, Shem Sweet, came
next--thirty year old he was; and besides them was Nelly Pearn, dairymaid,
and two other men and a boy.
Then came along the Old Soldier to Little Sherberton; and he never left it
again till five year ago, when he went out feet first.
To this day I couldn't tell you much about him. His character defied me. I
don't know whether he was good, or bad, or just neither, like most of us.
But on the whole I should be inclined to say he was good. He was cast in a
lofty mould, and had a wide experience of the seamy side of life. I proved
him a liar here and there, and he proved me a fool, but neither of us
shamed the other in that matter, for I said (and still say) that I'd
sooner be a fool then a rascal; while he, though he denied being a rascal,
said that he'd sooner be the biggest knave on earth than a fool. He argued
that any self-respecting creature ought to feel the same, and he had an
opinion to which he always held very stoutly, that the fools made far more
trouble in the world than the knaves. He went further than that, and said
if there were no fools, there wouldn't be no knaves. But there I didn't
hold with him; for a man be born a fool by the will of God, and I never
can see 'tis anything to be shamed about; whereas no man need be a knave,
if he goes to the Lord and Father of us all in a proper spirit, and prays
for grace to withstand the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the
Dowl.
Bob Battle he called himself, and he knocked at the door of Little
Sherberton on a winter night, and asked to see Mary, and would not be put
off by any less person. So she saw him, and heard how he had been tramping
through Holne and stopped for a drink and sang a song to the people in the
bar. It happened that Mr. Churchward, the innkeeper, wanted a message took
to my sister about some geese, and none would go for fear of snow, so the
tramp, for Bob was no better, said that he would go, if they'd put him in
the way and give him a shilling. And Churchward trusted him, because he
said that he reminded him of his dead brother. Though that wasn't nothing
in his favour, seeing what Henry Churchward had been in life.
However, Bob earned his money and came along, and Mary saw him and took
him in, and let him shake the snow off himself and eat and drink. Then
began the famous blizzard, and I've often thought old Bob must have known
it was coming. At any rate there was no choice but to let him stop, for it
would have been death to turn him out again. So he stopped, and when the
bad weather was over, he wouldn't go. There's no doubt my sister always
liked the man in a way; but women like a man in such a lot of different
ways that none could have told exactly how, or why, she set store on him.
For that matter she couldn't herself. Indeed I axed her straight out and
she tried to explain and failed. It wasn't his outer man, for he had a
face like a rat, with a great, ragged, grey moustache, thicker on one side
than t'other, and eyebrows like anybody else's whiskers. And one eyelid
was down, though he could see all right with the eye under it. Round in
the back he was and growing bald on the top; but what hair he had was
long, and he never would cut it, because he said it kept his neck warm.
He had his history pat, of course, though how much truth there was to it
we shall never know in this world. He was an old soldier, and had been
shot in the right foot in India along with Lord Roberts in the Chitral
campaign. Then he'd left the service and messed up his pension--so he
said. I don't know how. Anyway he didn't get none. He showed a medal,
however, which had been won by him, or somebody else; but it hadn't got no
name on it. He was a great talker and his manners were far ahead of
anything Mary had met with. He'd think nothing of putting a chair for her,
or anything like that; and while he was storm-bound, he earned his keep
and more, for he was very handy over a lot of little things, and clever
with hosses and so on, and not only would he keep 'em amused of a night
with his songs and adventures; but he'd do the accounts, or anything with
figures, and he showed my sister how, in a good few ways she was spending
money to poor purpose. He turned out to be a very clean man and very well
behaved. He didn't make trouble, but was all the other way, and when the
snow thawed, he was as busy as a bee helping the men round about the farm.
He made his head save his heels, too, and was full of devices and
inventions.
So when I got over after the worst was past, to see how they'd come
through it, there was Bob Battle working with the others; and when I
looked him up and down and said; "Who be you then?" he explained, and told
me how Mary had took him in out of the storm and let him lie in the
linhay; and how Noah had given him a suit of old clothes, and how much he
was beholden to them all. And they all had a good word for the man, and
Mary fairly simpered, so I thought, when she talked about him. There was
no immediate mention of his going, and when I asked my sister about it,
she said:
"Plenty of time. No doubt he'll get about his business in a day or two."
But, of course, he hadn't no business to get about, and though he talked
in a vague sort of way concerning his home in Exeter and a brother up to
Salisbury, it was all rubbish as he afterwards admitted. He was a tramp,
and nothing more, and the life at Little Sherberton and the good food and
the warm lying at nights, evidently took his fancy. So he stuck to it, and
such was his natural cleverness and his power of being in the right place
at the right moment that from the first nobody wished him away. He was
always talking of going, and it was always next Monday morning that he
meant to start: but the time went by and Bob Battle didn't. A very cunning
man and must have been in farming some time of his life, for he knew a
lot, and all worth knowing, and I'm not going to deny that he was useful
to me as well as to my sister.
She was as good as a play with Bob, and me and my wife, and another
married party here and there, often died of laughing to hear her talk
about him. Because the way that an unmarried female regards the male is
fearful and wonderful to the knowing mind.
Mary spoke of him as if she'd invented him, and knew his works, like a
clockmaker knows a clock. He interested her something tremendous, and got
to be her only subject presently.
"Mr. Battle was the very man for a farmer like me," she said once, "and
I'm sure I thank God's goodness for sending him along. He's a proper
bailiff about the place, and that clever with the men that nobody quarrels
with him. Of course he does nothing without consulting me; but he's never
mistaken, and apart from the worldly side of Mr. Battle, there's the
religious side."
I hadn't heard about that and didn't expect to, for Mary, though a good
straight woman, as wouldn't have robbed a lamb of its milk, or done a
crooked act for untold money, wasn't religious in the church-going or
Bible-reading sense, same as me and my wife were. In fact she never went
to church, save for a wedding or a funeral; but it appeared that Mr.
Battle set a good bit of store by it, and when she asked him, if he
thought so much of it, why he didn't go, he said it was only his
unfortunate state of poverty and his clothes and boots that kept him away.
"Not that the Lord minds," said Bob, "but the churchgoers do, and a pair
of pants like mine ain't welcomed, except by the Salvationists; and I
don't hold with that body."
So he got a suit of flame new clothes out of her and a new hat into the
bargain; and then I said that he'd soon be a goner. But I was wrong, for
he stopped and went down to Huccaby Chapel for holy service twice a
Sunday; and what's more he kept it up. And then, if you please, my sister
went with him one day; and coming to it with all the charm of novelty, she
took to it very kindly and got to be a right down church-goer, much to my
satisfaction I'm sure. And her up home five-and-sixty years old at the
time!
To sum up, Bob stayed. She offered him wages and he took them. Twenty-five
shillings a week and his keep he got out of her after the lambing season,
for with the sheep he proved a fair wonder same as he done with everything
else. And nothing was a trouble. For a fortnight the man never slept, save
a nod now and again in the house on wheels, where he dwelt in the valley
among the ewes. And old shepherds, with all the will to flout him, was
tongue-tied afore the man, because of his excellent skill and far-reaching
knowledge.
Mary called him "my bailiff," and was terrible proud of him; and he
accepted the position, and always addressed her as "Ma'am" afore the
hands, though "Miss Blake" in private. And in fulness of time, he called
her "Miss Mary." The first time he went so far as that, she came running
to me all in a twitter; but I could see she liked it at heart. She got to
trust him a lot, and though I warned her more than once, it weren't easy
to say anything against a man like Battle--as steady as you please, never
market-merry, and always ready for church on Sundays.
When I got to know him pretty well, I put it to him plain. One August day
it was, when we were going up to Princetown on our ponies to hear tell
about the coming fair.
"What's your game, Bob?" I asked the man. "I'm not against you," I said,
"and I'm not for you. But you was blowed out of a snow storm remember, and
we've only got your word for it that you're a respectable man."
"I never said I was respectable," he answered me, "but since you ask, I'll
be plain with you, Rupert Blake. 'Tis true I was a soldier and done my
duty and fought under Lord Roberts. But I didn't like it, and hated being
wounded and was glad to quit. And after that I kept a shop of all sorts on
Salisbury Plain, till I lost all my little money. Then I took up farm
labourer's work for a good few years, and tried to get in along with the
people at a farm. But they wouldn't promise me nothing certain for my old
age, so I left them and padded the country a bit. And I liked tramping,
owing to the variety. And I found I could sing well enough to get a bed
and supper most times; and for three years I kept at it and saw my native
country: towns in winter it was, and villages in summer. I was on my way
to Plymouth when I dropped into Holne, and Mr. Churchward offered me a bob
if I'd travel to Little Sherberton. And when I arrived there, and saw how
it was, I made up my mind that it would serve my turn very nice. Then I
set out to satisfy your sister and please her every way I could, because
I'm too old now for the road, and would sooner ride than walk, and sooner
sleep in a bed than under a haystack."
"You fell into a proper soft thing," I said; but he wouldn't allow that.
"No," he answered. "'Tis a good billet; but nothing to make a fuss about.
Of course for ninety-nine men out of a hundred, it would be a godsend and
above their highest hopes or deserts; but I'm the hundredth man--a man of
very rare gifts and understanding, and full of accomplishments gathered
from the ends of the world. I'm not saying it ain't a good home and a
happy one; but I'm free to tell you that the luck ain't all on one side;
and for your sister to fall in with me in her declining years was a very
fortunate thing for her; and I don't think that Miss Blake would deny it
if you was to ask her."
"In fact you reckon yourself a proper angel in the house," I said in my
comical tone of voice. But he didn't see nothing very funny in that.
"So I do," he said. "It was always my intention to settle down and be
somebody's right hand man some day; and if it hadn't been your sister, it
would have been some other body. I'm built like that," he added. "I never
did much good for myself, owing to my inquiring mind and great interest in
other people; but I've done good for others more than once, and shall
again."
"And what about the church-going?" I asked him. "Is that all 'my eye and
Betty Martin,' or do you go because you like going?"
"'Tis a good thing for the women to go to church," he answered, "and your
sister is all the better for it, and has often thanked me for putting her
in the way."
"'Twas more than I could do, though I've often been at her," I told the
man, admiring his determined character.
And then came the beginning of the real fun, when Mary turned up at
Brownberry after dark one night in a proper tantara, with her eyes rolling
and her bosom heaving like the waves of the sea. She'd come over Dart, by
the stepping stones--a tricky road for an old woman even by daylight, but
a fair marvel at night.
"God's my judge!" began Mary, dropping in the chair by the fire. "God's my
judge, Rupert and Susan, but he's offered marriage!"
"Bob!" I said; and yet I weren't so surprised as I pretended to be. And my
wife didn't even pretend.
"I've seen it coming this longful time, Mary," she declared. "And why
not?"
"Why not? I wonder at you, Susan!" my sister answered, all in a flame. "To
think of an old woman like me--with white hair and a foot in the grave!"
"You ain't got a foot in the grave!" answered Susan. "In fact you be peart
as a wagtail on both feet--else you'd never have come over they
slipper-stones in the dark so clever. And your hair's only white by a
trick of nature, and sixty-five ain't old on Dartmoor."
"Nor yet anywhere else," I said. "The females don't throw up the sponge in
their early forties nowadays, like they used to do. In fact far from it.
Didn't I see Squire Bellamy's lady riding astride to hounds but yesterday
week, in male trousers and a tight coat--and her forty-six if a day?
You're none too old for him, if that was all."
"But it ain't all," answered Mary. "Why, he offered me his brains to help
out mine, and his strong right arm for me to lean upon! And he swears to
goodness that he never offered marriage before--because he never found the
woman worthy of it--and so on; and all to me! Me--a spinster from my youth
up and never a thought of a man! And now, of course, I'll be a
laughing-stock to Dartymoor, and a figure of fun for every thoughtless
fool to snigger at."
"You couldn't help his doing it," I said. "'Tis a free country."
"And more could he help it, seemingly," she answered. "Any way he swore he
was driven to speak. In fact he have had the thing in his prayers for a
fortnight. 'Tis a most ondacent, plaguey prank for love to play; for
surely at our time of life, we ought to be dead to such things?"
"A man's never dead to such things--especially a man that's been a
soldier, or a sailor," I told my sister; and Susan said the same, and
assured Mary that there was nothing whatever ondacent to it, silly though
it might be.
Then Mary fired up in her turn and said there wasn't nothing whatever
silly to it that she could see. In fact quite the contrary, and she dared
Susan to use the word about her, or Mr. Battle either. And she rattled on
in her violent and excited way and was on the verge of the hystericals now
and again. And for my life I couldn't tell if she was pleased as Punch
about it, or in a proper tearing rage. I don't think she knew herself how
she felt.
We poured some sloe gin into her and calmed her down, and then my eldest
son took her home; and when he came back, he said that Bob Battle had gone
to bed.
"I looked in where he sleeps," said my son, "and Bob was in his shirt,
quite calm and composed, saying his prayers."
"Trust him for being calm and composed," I said. "None ever saw him
otherwise. He's a ruler of men for certain, but whether he's a ruler of
women remains to be seen--for that's a higher branch of larning, as we all
know."
Next day I went over and had a tell with Bob, and he said it weren't so
much my business as I appeared to think.
"There's no doubt it flurried us both a lot," he told me. "To you, as an
old married man, 'tis nothing; but for us, bachelor and spinster as we
are, it was a great adventure. But these things will out and I'm sorry she
took it so much to heart. 'Twas the surprise, I reckon--and me green at
the game. However, she'll get over it--give her time."
He didn't offer no apology nor nothing like that.
"Well," I said--in two minds what to say--"she've made it clear what her
feelings were, so I'll ask you not to let it occur again."
"She made it clear her feelings were very much upheaved," answered Bob;
"but she didn't make it clear what her feelings were; because she didn't
say 'yes' and she didn't say 'no.'"
"You don't understand nothing about women," I replied to him, "so you can
take it from me that 'tis no good trying no more. She's far too old in her
own opinion. In a word you shocked her. She was shaking like an aspen leaf
when she ran over to me."
Bob Battle nodded.
"I may have been carried away and forced it on to her too violent, or I
may have put it wrong," he said. "'Tis an interesting subject; but we'd
better let it rest."
So nothing more was heard of that affair at the time; though Bob stopped
on, and Mary never once alluded to the thing afterwards. In fact, it was
sinking to a nine days' wonder with us, when blessed if she didn't fly
over once more--this time in the middle of a January afternoon.
"He's done it again!" she shouted out to me, where I stood shifting muck
in the yard. "He's offered himself again, Rupert! What's the world coming
to?"
This time she had put on her bonnet and cloak and, Dart being in spate,
she'd got on her pony and ridden round by the bridge.
She was excited, and her lip bivered like a baby's. To get sense out of
her was beyond us, and after she'd talked very wildly for two hours and
gone home again, my wife and me compared notes about her state; and my
wife said that Mary wasn't displeased at heart, but rather proud about it
than not; while I felt the contrary, and believed the man was getting on
her nerves.
"'Tis very bad for her having this sort of thing going on, if 'tis to
become chronic," I said. "And if Bob was a self-respecting man, as he
claims to be, he wouldn't do it. I'm a good bit surprised at him."
"She'd send him going if she didn't like it," declared Susan, and I
reminded her that my sister had actually talked of doing so. But it died
down again, and Bob held on, and I had speech with Noah Sweet and his
wife; and they said that Mary was just as usual and Bob as busy as a bee.
However, my sister spoke of it off and on, and when I asked her if the man
persecuted her, and if she wanted my help to thrust him out once for all,
she answered thus:
"You can't call it persecution," she told me, "but often he says of a
night, speaking in general like, that an Englishman never knows when he's
beat, and things like that; and when he went to Plymouth, he spent a month
of his money and bought me a ring, with a proper precious blue stone in it
for my sixty-sixth birthday. And nothing will do but I wear it on my
rheumatic finger. In fact you can't be even with the man, and I feel like
a bird afore a snake."
All the same she wouldn't let me speak a word to him. She wept a bit, and
then she began to laugh and, in fact, went on about it like a giglet wench
of twenty-five. But my firm impression continued to be that she was
suffering and growing feared of Battle, and would soon be in the doctor's
hands for her nerves, if something weren't done.
I troubled a good bit and tried to get a definite view out of her, but I
failed. Then I had a go at Bob too; but for the first time since I had
known him, he was a bit short and sharp like, and what I had to say didn't
interest him in the least. In fact he told me in so many words to mind my
own business and leave him to mind his.
Then another busy spring kept us apart a good bit, till one evening Noah
Sweet came up, all on his own, with a bit of startling news.
"I wasn't listening," he said, "and I should feel a good bit put out if
you thought I was; but passing the parlour door last Sunday, I heard the
man at her again! I catched the words, 'We're neither of us growing any
younger, Mary Blake,' and then I passed on my way. And coming back a bit
later, with my ear open, out of respect for the missis, I heard the man
kiss her--I'll swear he did--for you can't mistake the sound if once
you've heard it. And she made a noise like a kettle bubbling over. And so
of course, I felt that it would be doing less than my duty if I didn't
come over and tell you, because your sister's eyes was red as fire at
supper table, and 'twas very clear she'd been weeping a bucketful about
it. And me and my wife feel 'tis an outrageous thing and something ought
to be done against the man."
Well, I went over next morning, and Mary wouldn't see me! For the only
time in all our lives, she wouldn't see me. And first I was properly angry
with her, and next, of course, I thought how 'twas, and guessed the man
had forbidden her to speak to me for fear of my power over her. Him I
couldn't see neither, because he was gone to Plymouth. Of course he'd gone
for craft, that I shouldn't tackle him. So I left it there, and walked
home very much enraged against Bob Battle. Because I felt it was getting
to be a proper struggle between him and me for Mary; and that it was about
time I set to work against him in earnest.
The climax happened a week later, when the Lord's Day came round again,
and we went to church as usual. Then a proper awful shock fell on me and
my wife.
For at the appointed time, if the Reverend Batson didn't ax 'em out!
"Robert Battle, bachelor, and Mary Blake, spinster, both of this parish,"
he said; and so I knew the old rascal had gone too far at last and guessed
it was time I took him in hand like a man. I remember getting red-hot all
over and feeling a rush of righteous anger fill my heart; and an angry man
will do anything, so I got up in the eye of all the people--an act very
contrary to my nature, I'm sure. The place swam before my eyes and I was
only conscious of one thing: my wife tugging at my tail to drag me down.
But nought could have shut me up at that tragical moment, and I spoke with
a loud and steady voice.
"I deny it and defy it, Reverend Batson," I said, when he asked if anybody
knew 'just cause'; and the people fluttered like a flock of geese, and
parson made answer:
"Then you will meet me in the vestry after Divine Service, Farmer Blake,"
he answered, and so went on with his work.
After that I sat down, and my wife whispered; "Now you've done it, you
silly gawk!"
But I was too put about to heed her. In fact I couldn't stand no more
religion for the moment, and I rose up and went out, and smoked my pipe
behind the family vault of the Lords of the Manor, till the people had all
got away after service. And then I came forth and went into the vestry.
But I wasn't the first, for who should be waiting for me but my sister,
Mary, and Bob Battle himself. Bob was looking out of the window at the
graves, thoughtful like, and parson was getting out of his robes; but Mary
didn't wait for them. She let on to me like a cat-a-mountain, and I never
had such a dressing down from mortal man or woman in all my life as I had
from her that Sunday morning.
"You meddlesome, know-naught, gert fool!" she said. "How do you dare to
lift your beastly voice in the House of God, and defy your Maker, and
disgrace your family and come between me and the man I be going to marry?
You're an insult to the parish and to the nation," she screamed out, "and
'tis enough to make father and mother turn in their graves."
"I didn't know you was to church," I answered her, "and of course if
you're pleased--"
"Pleased!" she cried. "Very like I am pleased! 'Tis a pleasing sort of
thing for a woman to wait for marriage till she's in sight of seventy and
then hear her banns defied by her own brother! Of course I'm
pleased--quite delighted, I'm sure! Who wouldn't be?"
Well, we was three men to one woman, and little by little we calmed her
down with a glass of cold water and words of wisdom from his Reverence.
Then I apologised to all of them--to Mary first for mistaking her meaning,
and to Bob next for being too busy, and to his holiness most of all for
brawling under the Sacred Roof. But he was an understanding man and
thought nothing of it; and as to Battle, he had meant to come up that very
afternoon, along with his betrothed wife, to see us. And it had been
Mary's maidenly idea to let us hear tell about it in church first--to
break the news and spare her blushes.
Well, I went home with my tail a good bit between my legs, in a manner of
speaking; and my sister so far forgave me as to come to tea that day
fortnight, though not sooner. And she was cold and terribly standoffish
when she did come. We made it up, however, long before the wedding--thanks
to Bob himself; for he bore no malice and confessed to me in strict
privacy after all was over that it had been a difficult and dangerous
business, and that the Chitral Campaign was a fool to it.
"The thing is to strike the right note in these matters," he said. "And it
weren't till the third time that I struck it with your sister. Afore that
I talked of being her right hand and protector and so on, and I offered to
be a prop to her declining years, and all that. And I knew I'd failed
almost before the words were spoken. But the third time I just went for
her all ends up, as if we was boy and girl, and told her that I loved her,
and wanted her for herself, and wouldn't take 'No' for an answer. Why--God
forgive me--I even said I'd throw myself in the river if she refused
again! But there it was: she yielded, and I kissed her, and she very near
fainted with excitement. And I want you to understand this, Rupert Blake:
I'm not after her stuff, nor her farm, nor nothing that's worth a penny to
any man. Her will must be made again, but everything goes back to you and
yours. I only ask to stop along with her till I'm called: for I'm alone in
the world and shouldn't like to be thrust out. And if Mary goes first,
then I ordain that you let me bide to my dying day in comfort out of
respect to her memory. And that's all I ask or want."
I didn't see how the man could say fairer than that, and more did my wife.
And it all went very suent I'm sure. They was wedded, and spent eight
fairly happy years together, and Bob knew his place till Mary's dying day.
He didn't kill himself with work after he'd got her; and he wasn't at
church as regular as of old; but he pleasured her very willing most times,
and was always kind and considerate and attentive; and if ever they had a
word, only them and their Maker knew about it.
She loved him, and she loved the ring he put on her finger, and she loved
signing herself "Mary Battle"--never tired of that. And then she died, and
he bided on till he was a very old, ancient man, with my son to help him.
And then he died too, and was buried along with his wife. He was always
self-contained and self-respecting. He took his luck for granted and never
made no fuss about it; and such was his character that no man ever envied
him his good fortune. In fact, I do believe that everybody quite agreed
with his own opinion: that he hadn't got any more than he deserved--if as
much.