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 Seaman, his name was. For a long time I couldn’t make up my mind which of them to take, and they kep’ coming and coming, and I kep’ worrying. Y’see, W.O. was rich—he had a fine place and carried considerable style. He was by far the best match. Jog along, black mare.”

“Why didn’t you marry him?” asked Anne.

“Well, y’see, he didn’t love me,” answered Mrs. Skinner, solemnly.

Anne opened her eyes widely and looked at Mrs. Skinner. But there was not a glint of humor on that lady’s face. Evidently Mrs. Skinner saw nothing amusing in her own case.

“He’d been a widder-man for three years, and his sister kept house for him. Then she got married and he just wanted some one to look after his house. It was worth looking after, too, mind you that. It’s a handsome house. Jog along, black mare. As for Thomas, he was poor, and if his house didn’t leak in dry weather it was about all that could be said for it, though it looks kind of pictureaskew. But, y’see, I loved Thomas, and I didn’t care one red cent for W.O. So I argued it out with myself. ‘Sarah Crowe,’ say I—my first was a Crowe—‘you can marry your rich man if you like but you won’t be happy. Folks can’t get along together in this world without a little bit of love. You’d just better tie up to Thomas, for he loves you and you love him and nothing else ain’t going to do you.’ Jog along, black mare. So I told Thomas I’d take him. All the time I was getting