"Nice gal fer you to bring home to help yer
mother; all she'll do is to play May Queen and have the hull lot of
us a-trottin' to wait on her. You'll marry a farmer's gal, _I_ say,
one that's brung up like yerself and yer mother and me, or I tell
yer yer shan't have one consarned acre of this place. I'll leave
the hull farm to yer sister Jane's man. _She_ married somethin'
like--decent, stiddy, hard-working man is Sid Simpson, and _he'll_
git what land I have to leave."
"I quite know that, dad," Sam blazed forth, irritably; "so does he.
That's what he married Janie for--the whole township knows that.
He's never given her a kind word, or a holiday, or a new dress,
since they were married--eight years. She slaves and toils, and he
rich as any man need be; owns three farms already, money in the
bank, cattle, horses--everything. But look at Janie; she looks as
old as mother. I pity _his_ son, if he ever has one. Thank heaven,
Janie has no children!"
"Come, come, father--Sam!" a patient voice would interrupt, and
Mrs. Norris would appear at the door, vainly endeavoring to make
peace. "I'll own up to both of you I'd sooner have a farmer's
daughter for mine-in-law than Della Kennedy. But, father, he ain't
married yet, and--"
"Ain't married, eh?" blurted in old Bill.
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