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'I wonder you could stand third in that list, Clerk Crickett, said Mr. Springrove. 'Well, 't has been a power o' marvel to myself oftentimes. Yes, matrimony do begin wi' "Dearly beloved," and ends wi' "Amazement," as the prayer-book says. But what could I do, naibour Springrove? 'Twas ordained to be. Well do I call to mind what your poor lady said to me when I had just married. "Ah, Mr.
'Yes, yes, naibour Crickett, said Springrove, 'but she'll vlee in a passion all the fat will be in the fire and there's an end o't.... Yes, she is a one, continued the farmer, resting, raising his eyes, and reading the features of a distant apple. 'True: a one is she, the clerk chimed in, shaking his head ominously. 'She has such a temper, said the farmer, 'and is so wilful too.
'How be ye? Well, come along home, and don't let's bide out here in the damp. Such weather must be terrible bad for a young chap just come from a fiery nation like Indy; hey, naibour Cannister? 'Trew, trew. And about getting home his traps? Boxes, monstrous bales, and noble packages of foreign description, I make no doubt? 'Hardly all that, said Stephen laughing.
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