Some weeks before Didymus Farrow was born, Mrs. Farrow remembered the bishop and part of his discourse, but what she remembered most distinctly was, “Thomas, which is called Didymus.”  These words were borne in upon her, she said, and accordingly the son was baptized Didymus.  When he grew up, he entered upon his father’s trade, which was that of making the willow hampers for fruit-growers, of whom there were a good many round Cowfold, and who sent their fruit to London, stacked high on huge broad-wheeled waggons.  Didymus also manufactured hand-baskets, all kinds of willow ware and white wood goods.  He had a peculiar aptitude for the lathe, and some of his bread-plates were really as neatly executed as any that could be seen in London.  He had even turned in poplar some vases, which found their way to a drawing-master, and were used as models.  He was now about thirty, had yellow hair, blue eyes, a smiling face, widish mouth, always a little open, nose a little turned up, whistled a good deal, and walked with a peculiar dance-like lilt.  He was a gay, innocent creature, honest in all his dealings, and fairly prosperous.  He had been married early, but had lost his wife when he was about twenty-six, and had been left with one daughter, whom his sister had in charge.  The sister was about to be married, and when her brother knew that the day for her departure was fixed, it came into his head that he ought to be married again.  Otherwise, who could manage his house and his family?

He was not a man to seek any recondite reasons for doing or not doing anything.  He was not in the habit of pausing before he acted, and demanding the production of every conceivable argument, yea or nay, and then with toil adjusting the balance between them.  If a lot of withies looked cheap, he bought them straightway, and did not defer the bargain for weeks till he could ascertain if he could get them cheaper elsewhere.

Going home one evening, he passed his friend Giacomo’s shop, and through the window saw Miriam talking to her father.  Instantly it struck him that Miriam was the girl for him, and he began to whistle the air to “Hark the Lark,” for he was a member of the Cowfold Glee Club, and sang alto.  This was on the 25th May.  Miriam being accustomed to walk in the fields in the evening, and Mr. D. Farrow being fully aware of her custom, he met her on the 26th and after some preliminary skirmishing requested her to take him for better or for worse.  She was surprised, but did not say so, and asked time for consideration.  She did consider, but consideration availed nothing.  It is so seldom even at the most important moments that our faculties are permitted fully to help us.  There is no free space allowed, and we are dragged hither and thither by a swarm of temporary impulses.  The result has to stand, fixed for ever, but the operative forces which determine it are those of the moment, and not of eternity.  Miriam, moreover, just then lacked the strong instinct which mercifully for us so often takes us in hand.  She was not altogether unhappy, but dull and careless as to what became of her.  No oracle advised her.  There is now no pillar of cloud or of fire to guide mortals; the heavenly apparition does not appear even in extremities; and consequently a week afterwards she said yes, and six months afterwards she was Mrs. Farrow.