I would," answered old Endicott, "I shouldn't have hesitated to say so. It's because I wouldn't that I was dumb."
"You wouldn't? That's a great weight off my mind, then."
"I mean no praise for you. I should like to chop you and Stapledon small, mix you, and mould you again. Yet what folly! Then she'd look at neither, for certain."
"Such a salad wouldn't be delectable. But thank you for heartening me. I'm the husband for your niece. I know it—sure as I'm a Christian. And she knew it a month ago; and she'll know it again a month hence, I pray, even if she's forgotten it for the moment. Now I'll clear out, and leave you with your thoughts."
"So you've quarrelled with her?"
"No, no, no; she quarrelled with me, very properly, very justly; then she left me in disgrace, and I came to you, hoping for a grain of comfort. I'm a poor prattler, you know—one who cannot hide my little dish of misery out of sight, but must always parade it if I suspect a sympathetic nature in man or woman. Good-bye again."
So Christopher departed, mounted his horse, and trotted home in most amiable mood.
CHAPTER IX.
THE WARNING
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