“Ya-as’m! ya-as’m!” said Unc’ Simmy, rolling his eyes, for he saw that Mrs. Parsons was “one of de quality,” as he expressed it. “Sho’ will.”
They were not kept waiting long. Miss Grogan was too much the lady to strive for effect. She received them, as she had the girls, on her porch; but this time in the sunshine.
It was a beautiful old front yard, hidden by an untrimmed hedge from the highway; and the end of the porch where the blind woman sat was now dressed with several old chairs that her guests might sit down. It was likely that Unc’ Simmy had brought these out himself, foretelling that there would be visitors.
“I am glad to see you,” Miss Catalpa said. She remembered Ruth and Helen when she clasped their hands, distinguishing between them, although she had “seen” them but once.
To Mrs. Parsons she confessed: “These young girls came in the rain and cheered me up. I love the young. Don’t you, ma’am?”
“I do,” sighed Aunt Rachel. “I’d give anything for my own youth.”
“No, no,” returned Miss Catalpa, shaking her head. “Life gets better as we grow mellow. That’s what I tell them all. I do not regret my youth, although ’twas spent comparatively free from care. And now——”
She waved the knitting in her hand, and laughed—her low, bird-like call. “The good Lord will provide. He always has.”
Mrs. Parsons, being a Southerner herself, could talk confidentially to Miss Catalpa. It seemed that several names were known to them in common; and the visitor from South Carolina learned how and where to find the particular “Kunnel Wildah” who had the disposal of Miss Catalpa’s affairs in his hands.
The party had a very pleasant visit with the blind woman. Unc’ Simmy appeared suddenly before them, his coachman’s coat and gloves discarded, and a rusty black coat in place of the livery. He bore a tray with high, beautifully thin, tinkling glasses of lemonade, with a sprig of mint in each.