“Mrs. Weston!” he exclaimed reproachfully. “I have opened my heart to you because I felt that you could feel with me, although the world might count us as strangers, but I thought you would understand what I meant even when I blundered through the expression of my thoughts. This is the first time you have misunderstood me. But I believe it was only pretended misunderstanding and that you do know what I meant.”
He said good-bye, and left Olive with a feeling of sadness and oppression on her mind. He had not been as bright as before, and she wondered who he was and why he was so anxious not to see anyone but her. She mentioned his visit to Ezra, but somehow she had less to tell about him than on former occasions. There seemed nothing to say. Ezra, too, did not appear as much amused as formerly at the joke of Mr. Perseus. No doubt it was getting stale by this time.
CHAPTER IX.
FIRST LESSONS.
Summer came on apace. The field had been duly run over in both directions with the shovel-plough, so as to leave between the cross-ploughing little “hills” of earth, out of which sprang the corn-clumps. The broad green ribbons of leaves fluttered in the wind, making a soft murmur as of a forest. Olive took great delight in her little flower-garden at the east end of the house, and worked and weeded at it both early and late. Napoleon Pompey, typical negro boy, which being interpreted means laziest of mortals, forgot his laziness to work for “Mis’ Ollie” as he called her. Together they had planted their balsams, trained their morning-glory, and rooted out brown beetles with zeal, to be amply repaid in July by a glorious profusion of blossoms.
“This is my very ownest own garden,” said Olive, exhibiting her balsams with pride to Ezra. “Mind, this is not community-land, it’s mine.”
“Does it make you enjoy the flowers more to think that nobody else has them?” asked Ezra, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Would it make you any the happier to keep the sunshine all to yourself, do you think?”
“No, certainly not, that’s quite different. But I’ve planted these flowers and grown them. I shall give them to whomsoever I like. You for instance.” She smiled coaxingly at him.
“You pretty child,” he said, disarmed.
“Why, I brought some over to Mrs. Carpenter to-day. I went to help her with her washing. And, do you know!” said Olive, “I was so amused.”
“At what?”