Mr. Omer, with a very complacent and amiable face, took several puffs in silence; and then said, resuming his first point—

“Accordingly we’re obleeged, in ascertaining how Barkis goes on, to limit ourselves to Em’ly. She knows what our real objects are, and she don’t have any more alarms or suspicions about us, than if we was so many lambs. Minnie and Joram have just stepped down to the house, in fact (she’s there, after hours, helping her aunt a bit), to ask her how he is to-night; and if you was to please to wait till they come back, they’d give you full partic’lers. Will you take something? A glass of srub and water, now? I smoke on srub and water, myself,” said Mr. Omer, taking up his glass, “because it’s considered softening to the passages, by which this troublesome breath of mine gets into action. But, Lord bless you,” said Mr. Omer, huskily, “it ain’t the passages that’s out of order! ‘Give me breath enough,’ says I to my daughter Minnie, ‘and I’ll find passages, my dear.”’

He really had no breath to spare, and it was very alarming to see him laugh. When he was again in a condition to be talked to, I thanked him for the proffered refreshment, which I declined, as I had just had dinner; and, observing that I would wait, since he was so good as to invite me, until his daughter and his son-in-law came back, I inquired how little Emily was.

“Well, Sir,” said Mr. Omer, removing his pipe, that he might rub his chin; “I tell you truly, I shall be glad when her marriage has taken place.”

“Why so?” I inquired.

“Well, she’s unsettled at present,” said Mr. Omer. “It ain’t that she’s not as pretty as ever, for she’s prettier—I do assure you, she is prettier. It ain’t that she don’t work as well as ever, for she does. She was worth any six, and she is worth any six. But somehow she wants heart. If you understand,” said Mr. Omer, after rubbing his chin again, and smoking a little, “what I mean in a general way by the expression, ‘A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether, my hearties, hurrah!’ I should say to you, that that was—in a general way—what I miss in Em’ly.”

Mr. Omer’s face and manner went for so much, that I could conscientiously nod my head, as divining his meaning. My quickness of apprehension seemed to please him, and he went on—

“Now, I consider this is principally on account of her being in an unsettled state, you see. We have talked it over a good deal, her uncle and myself, and her sweetheart and myself, after business; and I consider it is principally on account of her being unsettled. You must always recollect of Em’ly,” said Mr. Omer, shaking his head gently, “that she’s a most extraordinary affectionate little thing. The proverb says, ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’ Well, I don’t know about that. I rather think you may, if you begin early in life. She has made a home out of that old boat, Sir, that stone and marble couldn’t beat.”

“I am sure she has!” said I.

“To see the clinging of that pretty little thing to her uncle,” said Mr. Omer; “to see the way she holds on to him, tighter and tighter, and closer and closer, every day, is to see a sight. Now, you know, there’s a struggle going on when that’s the case. Why should it be made a longer one than is needful?”

I listened attentively to the good old fellow, and acquiesced, with all my heart, in what he said.

“Therefore, I mentioned to them,” said Mr. Omer, in a comfortable, easy-going tone, “this. I said, ‘Now, don’t consider Em’ly nailed down in point of time, at all. Make it your own time. Her services have been more valuable than was supposed; her learning has been quicker than was supposed; Omer and Joram can run their pen through what remains; and she’s free when you wish. If she likes to make any little arrangement, afterwards, in the way of doing any little thing for us at home, very well. If she don’t, very well still. We’re no losers, anyhow.’ For—don’t you see,” said Mr. Omer, touching me with his pipe, “it