Thoughts of much importance were evidently weighing with great force upon Aunt Polly’s mind, for all through breakfast she was very absent-minded, though her manner to Sim was unusually gentle—even bordering on tenderness.
“Now, Sim,” she said, when he rose from the table, “have Gineral Washington saddled by the time I get the dishes washed, for I’m going right over to the island.”
“So Jane Derwent and Clark are really goin’ to be married?”
“And it’s the best thing for ’em! When a man has made up his mind to ask a woman to have him, what’s the use of putting it off till the Day of Judgment? He may as well speak up at once.”
Sim assented with a dubious shake of the head; and with his thoughts reverting to the fickle Betsy, remarked sententiously that women were onsartin creeturs.
“Some on ’em,” replied Aunt Polly, “but not all! I like a woman that can make up her own mind; but, just mind this, Mr. White, if a man wants a wife that’s good for anything he mustn’t marry a little fool of fifteen or sixteen—no gal is fit to get married under thirty-five.”
Sim nodded his head.
“Did you ever see my settin’ out, Sim? If it hasn’t been used long afore this, it wasn’t for want of offers.”
Sim never had seen this wonderful setting out, and Aunt Polly promised to show it to him at some future time. Finally he sauntered away about his work, and Aunt Polly began clearing up the table. When everything was in order, she sat down before the loom, in which was the unfinished rag carpet that she had promised to Jane Derwent as a wedding present. She unrolled from the ponderous beam the yards which were completed and looked at them admiringly.
“There never was a neater carpet,” she said, “never; that orange in the warp is as bright as a guinea, and I never see a purtier blue. I don’t believe, arter all, it would fit any room in Edward Clark’s new house, and I don’t see what Jane wants of it; young folks shouldn’t begin life by being extravagant.”