"But what does your little girl do?" asked Mrs. Chadwick. "Surely you do not leave her alone?"
"I'm not afraid," I said. "I put up the bar and sew or read until he comes home, or M'liss comes up and sometimes the boys."
"Abner, we must have her up with us. I have no little girls, but I think we could entertain you. We have plenty of books to read."
"I'd be mighty glad to have you take her in hand," said father. "Mrs. Hayne's been like a mother, but you see that's a good streak off, and when she doesn't go to school it's rather lonesome."
"Of course you miss Norman very much," Mr. Harris commented, "he was a nice steady fellow. Dan's smart too, but rather wild. I don't know as this town is the best place to bring up boys, but still we've turned out some pretty nice men. I suppose there's a time when most of them kick over the traces, but they get broken in when they marry."
There had one letter come to Mrs. Hayne from Norman. They were at Detroit and were going up to the Straits. He had been very busy and a good deal homesick, he admitted, but he liked Mr. Le Moyne, and would never be sorry that he had started out in life. There were so many wonderful things in the world. At the Straits he would write more at length. "Give my love to little Ruth," he said, "and tell her she shall have a good long letter."
A week or so after their visit Mr. Harris came for me. It was not very far. They had quite a pretty cottage and a really beautiful garden. It was light enough to walk through it, and I was delighted. I had a vague idea that I had seen such gardens in our old State. Great bunches of camomile with their snowy disks and pungent odor, sweet Williams of almost every color, a tall row of hollyhocks just coming into bloom ranged along the fence, a bed of sweet herbs, lavender, thyme, sage, and there had been roses. I thought the most beautiful of all were the tall spikes of pure white lilies that I had never seen before, but I came to know afterward were annunciation lilies, and I never see the Virgin with her branch of bloom but it carries me back to that evening in the old garden.
The house downstairs had a sitting-room, a kitchen with a sort of shed-room off, and a sleeping-room. The first named had a fine rag carpet on the floor of Marty Pettengill's weaving and several boughten chairs that had come from Buffalo. Tall brass candlesticks and a pair of curious bronze-like pitchers with a gay-colored band about their necks and an oval of a girl's face set in their sides, that always interested me very much; a table between the windows with a Bible and hymn book, and a somewhat tarnished gilt frame mirror that broadened out at the top with a sort of cornice that enclosed a picture that I used to study of a young man in a boat and a girl just stepping into it. She held up a blue gown that was meant for silk by the shine of it, and had the daintiest slippered foot laced up over the instep with black cord. I admired her very much at first, then I grew tired of her, for I wanted to have her step into the boat and see him row away.
Upstairs, where we went presently, Mr. Harris had a sleeping chamber and what we might now call a library, or a den. There was a pair of huge antlers over the narrow mantle that divided off the fireplace. There were several guns and powder horns and some Indian trophies, and curious things I knew afterward were lichens from forest trees. The chairs were mostly homemade, and there was a box lounge with an Indian blanket over it. In both corners of the chimney from there to the wall were shelves with books and various curiosities from many parts of the continent.
"Here's where Norman and I sat and read after I found he had a liking for books," Mr. Harris said. "Books are my choicest friends. You run to verses, though, don't you?" looking at me. "I suppose that is natural for girls."