with a peart-lookin’ young feller in blue clothes and gilt straps on his shoulders.  Young lieutenant he was—­name o’ Morris.  Was layin’ in camp there in the city somers.  I disremember which camp it was now adzackly—­but anyway, it ‘peared like he had plenty o’ time to go and come, fer from that time on he kep’ on a-comin’—­ever’ time Marthy ‘ud come home, he’d come, too; and I got to noticin’ ’at Marthy come home a good ’eal more ’n she used to afore Morris first brought her.  And blame ef the thing didn’t git to worryin’ me!  And onc’t I spoke to mother about it, and told her ef I thought the feller wanted to marry Marthy I’d jest stop his comin’ right then and there.  But mother she sorto’ smiled and said somepin’ ‘bout men a-never seein’ through nothin’; and when I ast her what she meant, w’y, she ups and tells me ’at Morris didn’t keer nothin’ fer Marthy, ner Marthy fer Morris, and then went on to tell me that Morris was kindo’ aidgin’ up to’rds Annie—­she was next to Marthy, you know, in pint of years and experience, but ever’body allus said ‘at Annie was the purtiest one o’ the whole three of ’em.  And so when mother told me ’at the signs pinted to’rds Annie, w’y, of course, I hedn’t no particular objections to that, ’cause Morris was of good fambly enough it turned out, and, in fact, was as stirrin’ a young feller as ever I’d want fer a son-in-law, and so I hed nothin’ more to say—­ner they wasn’t no occasion to say nothin’, ’cause right along about then I begin to notice ‘at Marthy quit comin’ home so much, and Morris kep’ a-comin’ more.  Tel finally, one time he was out here all by hisself, ‘long about dusk, come out here where I was feedin’, and ast me, all at onc’t, and in a straight-for’ard way, ef he couldn’t marry Annie; and, some-way-another, blame ef it didn’t make me as happy as him when I told him yes!  You see that thing proved, pine-blank, ‘at he wasn’t a-fishin’ round fer Marthy.  Well-sir, as luck would hev it, Marthy got home about a half-hour later, and I’ll give you my word I was never so glad to see the girl in my life!  It was foolish in me, I reckon, but when I see her drivin’ up the lane—­ it was purt’ nigh dark then, but I could see her through the open winder from where I was settin’ at the supper-table, and so I jest quietly excused myself, p’lite-like, as a feller will, you know, when they’s comp’ny round, and I slipped off and met her jest as she was about to git out to open the barn gate.  ‘Hold up, Marthy,’ says I; ’set right where you air; I’ll open the gate fer you, and I’ll do anything else fer you in the world ‘at you want me to!’

“‘W’y, what’s pleased you so?’ she says, laughin’, as she druv through slow-like and a-ticklin’ my nose with the cracker of the buggy-whip.—­’What’s pleased you?’

“‘Guess,’ says I, jerkin’ the gate to, and turnin’ to lift her out.

“‘The new peanner’s come?’ says she, eager-like.

“‘Yer new peanner’s come,’ says I; ‘but that’s not it.’