This sentiment amused the widow herself more than Billy.  She laughed uproariously, raised her glass to her lips unconsciously, found it empty, grew instantly grave upon the discovery, set it down again, and sighed.

“It’s a wicked world,” she said.  “Sure as men’s in a plaace they brings trouble an’ wickedness.  An’ yet I’ve heard theer’s more women than men on the airth when all’s said.”

“God A’mighty likes ’em best, I reckon,” declared Mr. Blee.

“Not but what ’t would be a lonesome plaace wi’out the lords of creation,” conceded the widow.

“Ess fay, you ’m right theer; but the beauty of things is that none need n’t be lonely, placed same as you be.”

“‘Once bit twice shy,’” said Mrs. Coomstock.  Then she laughed again.  “I said them very words to Lezzard not an hour since.”

“An’ what might he have answered?” inquired Billy without, however, showing particular interest to know.

“He said he wasn’t bit.  His wife was a proper creature.”

“Bah! second-hand gudes—­that’s what Lezzard be—­a widow-man an’ eighty if a day.  A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi’ wan leg in the graave any time this twenty year.”

Mrs. Coomstock’s frame heaved at this tremendous criticism.  She gurgled and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open.

“You say that!  Eighty an’ coffin-ripe!”

“Ban’t no ontruth, neither.  A man ’s allus ready for his elm overcoat arter threescore an’ ten.  I heard the noise of his breathin’ paarts when he had brown kitty in the fall three years ago, an’ awnly thrawed it off thanks to the gracious gudeness of Miller Lyddon, who sent rich stock for soup by my hand.  But to hear un, you might have thought theer was a wapsies’ nest in the man’s lungs.”

“I doan’t want to be nuss to a chap at my time of life, in coourse.”

“No fay; ’t is the man’s paart to look arter his wife, if you ax me.  I be a plain bachelor as never thought of a female serious ’fore I seed you.  An’ I’ve got a heart in me, tu.  Ban’t no auld, rubbishy, worn-out thing, neither, but a tough, love-tight heart—­at least so ’t was till I seed you in your weeds eight year agone.”

“Eight year a widow!  An’ so I have been.  Well, Blee, you’ve got a powerful command of words, anyways.  That I’ll grant you.”

“’T is the gert subject, Mary.”

He moved nearer and put down his hat and stick; she exhibited trepidation, not wholly assumed.  Then she helped herself to more spirits.

“A drop I must have to steady me.  You men make a woman’s heart go flutterin’ all over her buzzom, like a flea under her—­”