"
"Oh, Catherine," sais I, a givin' her a wink, "take care of theeself,
or thy Musquodobit farm, with its hundred acres of intervale meadow,
and seventy head of horned cattle, is gone."
He took a very amatory look at her after that hint.
"Verily she would be a duck in Quaco, friend Jehu," said I.
"Indeed would she, anywhere," he said, looking sanctified Cupids at
her, as pious galls do who show you the place in your prayer-book at
church.
"Ah, there is another way methinks she would be a duck," said I, "the
maiden would soon turn up the whites of her eyes at dancin' like a
duck in thunder, as the profane men say."
"Oh, oh," said the doctor, who stood behind me, "I shall die, he'll
kill me. I can't stand this, oh, how my sides ache."
"Indeed I am afraid I shall always be a wild duck," said Catherine.
"They are safer from the fowler," said Jehu, "for they are wary and
watchful."
"If you are a widower," she said, "you ought to dance."
"Why do you think so?" said he; but his tongue was becoming thick,
though his eyes were getting brighter.
"Because," she said, "a widower is an odd critter."
"Odd?" he replied, "in what way odd, dear?"
"Why," said the girl, "an ox of ourn lately lost his mate, and my
brother called him the odd ox, and not the single ox, and he is the
most frolicksome fellow you ever see. Now, as you have lost your mate,
you are an odd one, and if you are lookin' for another to put its head
into the yoke, you ought to go frolickin' everywhere too!"
"Do single critters ever look for mates?" said he, slily.
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