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Five minutes later Marietta Himes was sitting on the horsehair sofa in the parlor, with Mr. Rooper on the horsehair chair opposite to her, and not very far away, and he was delivering the address which he had prepared.

“Madam,” said he, “I am a man that takes things in this world as they comes, and is content to wait until the time comes for them to come. I was well acquainted with John Himes. I knowed him in life, and I helped lay him out. As long as there was reason to suppose that the late Mr. Himes–I mean that the grass over the grave of Mr. Himes had remained unwithered, I am not the man to take one step in the direction of his shoes, nor even to consider the size of ’em in connection with the measure of my own feet. But time will pass on in nater as well as in real life; and while I know very well, Mrs. Himes, that certain feelin’s toward them that was is like the leaves of the oak-tree and can’t be blowed off even by the fiercest tempests of affliction, still them leaves will wither in the fall and turn brown and curl up at the edges, though they don’t depart, but stick on tight as wax all winter until in the springtime they is pushed off gently without knowin’ it by the green leaves which come out in real life as well as nater.”

When he had finished this opening Mr. Rooper breathed a little sigh of relief. He had not forgotten any of it, and it pleased him.

Marietta sat and looked at him. She had a good sense of humor, and, while she was naturally surprised at what had been said to her, she was greatly amused by it, and really wished to hear what else Thomas Rooper had to say to her.

“Now, madam,” he continued, “I am not the man to thrash a tree with a pole to knock the leaves off before their time. But when the young leaves is pushin’ and the old leaves is droppin’ (not to make any allusion, of course, to any shrivellin’ of proper respect), then I come forward, madam, not to take the place of anybody else, but jest as the nateral consequence of the seasons, which everybody ought to expect; even such as you, madam, which I may liken to a hemlock-spruce which keeps straight on in the same general line of appearance without no reference to the fall of the year, nor winter nor summer. And so, Mrs. Himes, I come here to-day to offer to lead you agin to the altar. I have never been there myself, and there ain’t no woman in the world that I’d go with but you. I’m a straightforward person, and when I’ve got a thing to say I say it, and now I have said it. And so I set here awaitin’ your answer.”

At this moment the shutters of the front window, which had been closed, were opened, and Asaph put in his head. “Look here, Thomas Rooper,” he said, “these shoes is pegged. I didn’t bargain for no pegged shoes; I wanted ’em sewed; everything was to be first-class.”

Mr. Rooper, who had been leaning forward in his chair, his hands upon his knees, and his face glistening with his expressed feelings as brightly as the old-fashioned but shining silk hat which stood on the floor by his side, turned his head, grew red to the ears, and then sprang to his feet. “Asaph Scantle,” he cried, with extended fist, “you have broke your word; you hindered.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Asaph, sulkily; “but pegged shoes is too much for any man to stand.” And he withdrew from the window, closing the shutters again.

“What does this mean?” asked Mrs. Himes, who had also risen.

“It means,” said Thomas, speaking with difficulty, his indignation was so great, “that your brother is a person of tricks and meanders beyond the reach of common human calculation. I don’t like to say this of a man who is more or less likely to be my brother-in-law, but I can’t help sayin’ it, so entirely upset am I at his goin’ back on me at such a minute.”