“Yours is blue,” the doctor told Nan. “I hope it fits as well as mine does. Try it on.”
Nan obeyed and announced that it would do very well.
“I believe we bought out the entire stock of thimbles,” said Jo. “Nan, it was as good as a show to see Mr. and Mrs. Davis. I don’t believe they ever had seen such a crowd of customers at one time in the store. Mr. Davis was like a pea on a hot griddle, and once or twice looked so wild I thought he would take to flight, but his wife always came to the rescue with ‘They’re on the top shelf, Al,’ or, ‘I’ll git ’em, jest you keep still.’”
Nan laughed. Jo’s imitation of the vernacular was perfect.
“When are you going to make my housewife?” asked the doctor.
Nan gave a swift glance at Mr. Wells. “The first rainy day,” she answered, though she resolved that there should be moments in between when she would secretly find time for the other one. This she decided should be of fair white linen like her dress, and she would embroider yellow buttercups upon it. It should be tied with yellow ribbons and the little leaves for the needles should be worked around with yellow silk. What a joy it would be to make it. She could steal off to the woods to do the work and it would be a charming task.
The visitors did not stay to supper, for there was no moon to guide them on their way and Mr. Wells had brought no lantern, but they lingered till the last moment, and as the artist bade Nan good-bye he gave her hand a slight pressure. “You won’t forget,” he said softly.
How could she forget anything of that wonderful afternoon when the gods had arrived?
