“So Kenelm’s been actin’ unlikely, has he?” queried Caleb.  “Well, if he was my brother he’d soon come to time quick, or be put to bed in a hospital.  That’s what would happen to him.”

Miss Parker looked as if the hospital picture was more appealing than dreadful.

“I wish he was your brother,” she said.  “Or I wish I was independent and had a house of my own.”

“Huh!  Gosh!  So do I wish I had one.  I’ve been wishin’ it all the mornin’.  If I had a home of my own I’d have what I wanted to eat—­yes, and wear.  And I’d have ’em when I wanted ’em, too.”

“Don’t they give you good things to eat over at Mrs. Barnes’?”

“Oh, they’re good enough maybe, if they’re what you want.  But boardin’s boardin’; ’tain’t like your own home.”

“Caleb, it’s a wonder to me you don’t rent a little house and live in it.  You’ve got money enough; least so everybody says.”

“Humph!  What everybody says is ’most generally lies.  What would be the sense of my hirin’ a house?  I’d have to have a housekeeper and a good one costs like thunder.  A feller’s wife has to get along on what he gives her, but a housekeeper—­”

He stopped short, seemingly struck by a new and amazing idea.  Miss Parker rambled on about the old days when “dear papa” was alive; how happy she was then, and so on, with occasional recourse to the handkerchief.  Suddenly Caleb slapped his knee.

“It’s all right,” he said.  “It’s fine—­and it’s commonsense, too.  Hannah, what’s the matter with you and me gettin’ married?”

Hannah stared at him.

“Married!” she repeated.  “Me get married!  Who to, for the land sakes?  Are you out of your head?”

“Not a mite.  What’s the matter with you marryin’ me?”

“My soul!  Is this a funny-paper joke, or are you—­”

“’Tain’t a joke; I mean it.  Is there any reason why we shouldn’t marry and settle down together, you and me?  I don’t see none.  You could keep house for me then, and ’twouldn’t cost—­that is, you could look out for me, and I—­well, I suppose likely I could look out for you, too.  Why not?”

“Why, how you talk, Caleb Hammond!”

“No, I don’t talk neither.  I mean it.  You was wishin’ for a home of your own; so was I. Let’s have one together.”

“Well, I swan!  Get married at our—­at our age!  I never did hear such talk!  We’d be a nice young bride and groom, wouldn’t we?  I guess East Wellmouth folks would have somethin’ to laugh at then.”

“Let ’em laugh.  Laughin’ don’t cost nothin’, and, if it does, we won’t have to pay for it.  See here, Hannah, this ain’t any foolish front-gate courtin’, this ain’t.  It’s just common-sense business.  Let’s do it.  I will if you will.”

Miss Parker shook her head.  The prospect of being Mrs. Caleb Hammond was not too alluring.  Caleb’s reputation as a husband was not, while his wife lived, that of a “liberal provider.”  And yet this was Hannah’s first proposal, and it had come years after she had given up hoping for one.  So she prolonged the delicious moment as long as possible.