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“Well, write an’ tell her as you will take her away,” returned Frizzell in a kind of muffled roar. “I bain’t ashamed o’ my child, whatever other folks may be. Write an’ tell her as Father an’ Mother ’ull be fain to have her home, and won’t let nobody worrit her when she d’ get there. I’ll soon shut their mouths if they try to make out as she bain’t a-tellin’ the trewth!”

“Now, Father, you listen to I.” And here Martha laid both her hands upon his great round shoulders and fairly shook him in her eagerness. “I bain’t a-goin’ for to let her tell the trewth—not all the trewth. I’m willin’ she should say she got married to a soldier unbeknown to us, but I don’t mean to let the rest come out. I’m goin’ for to give out as he were killed in the war. That way he’ll be done wi’, so to speak—nobody ’ull be axin’ questions about en, or wonderin’ why Susan have come home.”

John Frizzell fairly gasped.

“Bless my heart!” he ejaculated, staring at his eager little wife. “Why, what a tale! I don’t much fancy tellin’ sich a pack o’ lies; nay, now”—and he rolled his head obstinately—“I bain’t a-goin’ to tell ’em. I’ll speak the trewth, and knock down them as says contrairy—I’ll be danged if I won’t!”