"Dannie, lad," said he, with a gravity that left me no stomach for
argument, "the maid goes steerage along o' me. This here little matter
o' Judy," he added, gently, "belongs t' me. I'm not makin' a lady o'
she. She haves nothin' t' do--nothin' t' do, thank God!--with what's
gone afore."
There was no word to say.
"An ye're wantin' t' have Judy t' dinner, by times," he continued,
winking a genial understanding of my love-lorn condition, "I 'low it
might be managed by a clever hand."