"Don't cry, ma, I'll mash you up some nice ones for supper. That'll
be something to look forward to," said Sarah, who might have won
an immortal crown had such trophies been awarded to the patience of
daughters-in-law. "So you didn't buy that steer, Abel?"
"No, I didn't buy it."
"Have you seen Judy to-day?"
"I stopped there on my way home. She was making butter, and we talked
about buying an extra cow or two and letting Blossom and her send some
to market."
"Well it beats me!" observed Sarah, but whether her discomfiture was due
to Judy's butter or to Abel's love making, she did not explain. On the
whole the staidness of the courtship was pleasing to her. Her sense
of decorum was flattered by it, for she had as little tolerance of the
softer virtues as of the softer vines. It had been years since she
had felt so indulgent toward her second son; yet in spite of the
gratification his dejection afforded her, she was, as she had just
confessed, utterly and entirely "beat." His period of common sense--of
perfect and complete sobriety--had lasted for half a year, but she
was too shrewd a woman to be deceived by the mere external calmness of
appearances.
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