The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. Mr. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. There was a long silence between them. “You see, Vee,” said Mrs. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. She felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the best means of accomplishing her purpose. You said that it would bring trouble. No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind.
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