“What?” asked the captain, doubtfully, “breakfast?”
“No—no—the—I feel as if I didn’t want any minister in Fairport.”
“I see.” He nodded. “Leave it to me, Betsy. Leave everything to me. I know I’m a blunderer lots o’ times; but I’ll attend to this right. I love ye.” He drew her down again on his comfortable shoulder. “Will ye come in?” he asked, after a minute.
“No. I’ll stay out here, Hiram.”
“All right.” He kissed her forehead. “To think ye’ll stay!” he said softly. “That’s the wonderful part of it. To think ye’ll stay!”
He went into the house and brought a calico cushion with him from somewhere, putting it behind her back. She accepted it, too spent to smile.
Hiram saw her pallor, and hastened the breakfast. Soon a little table appeared before the garden-seat, and coffee and toast and eggs were speedily forthcoming.
He sat beside her, and arranged everything with the utmost care.
“How good you are!” she said, once. Otherwise she was silent, and so was he.
Before they had finished, a small boy entered the gate with papers under his arm. His jaw dropped as he recognized the captain and a guest at breakfast under the ragged balm-of-Gilead tree.