made no ado about running after him to utter any recriminations on the matter; all he did was to burst out a-laughing heartily, at once at the simplicity of his poor little wife, and because the fellow was so soundly punished.
Well! here is a village story I must needs tell, for 'tis not a bad one. A village wench, as they were leading her to church on her wedding-day to the sound of tabor and flute, and with much rustic ceremony, chancing to catch sight of her girlhood's lover, did shout out these words to him, "Farewell, Pierre, farewell! I've got... You'll never give it me any more. My mother's married me now,"—blurting the word right out. Her simplicity was no less admirable than the soft regret she showed for past days.
One more, as we are on village tales. A pretty young girl took a load of wood to sell at the market town. Asked how much, she kept continually raising her price at each offer made her by the dealers. "You shall have so much," they cried, "and something else into the bargain."—" 'Tis well said," she cried, "and thank you! you're the very man."
Right simple-minded wenches these, and very different, they and their like, (for there be plenty such), from a whole host of others in this wicked world, which be far more double-dealing and knowing than these, never asking counsel of their husbands nor never showing them such presents as they may get.
I heard an anecdote once in Spain of a young girl who the first night after her marriage, as her husband was struggling and sweating sore and hurting himself in his attempts, did set up a laugh and tell him, Señor, bien es
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