"I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. ‘Well, sir, if I’ve to choose betwixt him and you, I’ll take you, no question. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft.
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