“Do you know that Dutchman Claricy Verjoos is goin’ to marry?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied John, laughing; “I have met him a number of times.  But he isn’t a Dutchman.  What gave you that idea?”

“I heard it was over in Germany she run across him,” said David.

“I believe that is so, but he isn’t a German.  He is from Philadelphia, and is a friend of the Bradways.”

“What kind of a feller is he?  Good enough for her?”

“Well,” said John, smiling, “in the sense in which that question is usually taken, I should say yes.  He has good looks, good manners, a good deal of money, I am told, and it is said that Miss Clara—­which is the main point, after all—­is very much in love with him.”

“H’m,” said David after a moment.  “How do you git along with the Verjoos girls?  Was Claricy’s ears pointed all right when you seen her fust after she come home?”

“Oh, yes!” replied John, smiling, “she and her sister were perfectly pleasant and cordial, and Miss Verjoos and I are on very friendly terms.”

“I was thinkin’,” said David, “that you an’ Claricy might be got to likin’ each other, an’ mebbe—­”

“I don’t think there could ever have been the smallest chance of it,” declared John hastily.

“Take the lines a minute,” said David, handing them to his companion after stopping the horses.  “The nigh one’s picked up a stone, I guess,” and he got out to investigate.  “The river road,” he remarked as he climbed back into the buggy after removing the stone from the horse’s foot, “is about the puttiest road ’round here, but I don’t drive it oftener jest on account of them dum’d loose stuns.”  He sucked the air through his pursed-up lips, producing a little squeaking sound, and the horses started forward.  Presently he turned to John: 

“Did you ever think of gettin’ married?” he asked.

“Well,” said our friend with a little hesitation, “I don’t remember that I ever did, very definitely.”

“Somebody ’t you knew ’fore you come up here?” said David, jumping at a conclusion.

“Yes,” said John, smiling a little at the question.

“Wouldn’t she have ye?” queried David, who stuck at no trifles when in pursuit of information.

John laughed.  “I never asked her,” he replied, in truth a little surprised at his own willingness to be questioned.

“Did ye cal’late to when the time come right?” pursued Mr. Harum.

Of this part of his history John had, of course, never spoken to David.  There had been a time when, if not resenting the attempt upon his confidence, he would have made it plain that he did not wish to discuss the matter, and the old wound still gave him twinges.  But he had not only come to know his questioner very well, but to be much attached to him.  He knew, too, that the elder man would ask him nothing save in the way of kindness, for he had had a hundred proofs of that; and now, so far from feeling reluctant to take his companion into his confidence, he rather welcomed the idea.  He was, withal, a bit curious to ascertain the drift of the inquiry, knowing that David, though sometimes working in devious ways, rarely started without an intention.  And so he answered the question and what followed as he might have told his story to a woman.