“Now, Si, do let th’ child alone,” Mrs. Chamberlain protested. “He’s always got t’ tease,” she added deprecatingly.
“Sometimes I be an’ sometimes not. Miss Farnshaw made me think of you some way when I see her this afternoon.” Noting his wife’s look of surprise, he explained: “I mean when I see you down to th’ Cherryvale meetin’ house. An’ it didn’t take me long t’ make up my mind after that, neither.”
Mrs. Chamberlain smiled at the mention of girlhood days, but said nothing, and Silas turned to Elizabeth again with his honest face alight with memories of youth.
“You see, Miss Farnshaw, I’d gone out on th’ hunt of a stray calf, an’ an unexpected shower came on—th’ kind that rains with th’ sun still a shinin’—an’ I dug my heels into old Charlie’s flanks an’ hurried along down th’ road to th’ meeting house, a few rods farther on, when what should I see but a pretty girl on th’ steps of that same place of refuge! Well, I begged ’er pardon, but I stayed on them there steps till that shower cleared off. Most of th’ time I was a prayin’ that another cloud would appear, an’ I didn’t want it no bigger than a man’s hand neither. No, sir-ee, I wouldn’t ’a’ cared if it’d ’a’ been as big as th’ whole Bay of Biscay. An’ what I was thinkin’ jest now was that there was about th’ same fundamental differences ’tween you an’ John Hunter that th’ was ’tween Liza Ann an’ me. He’s light haired an’ blue eyed, an tall an’ slim, an’ he’s openin’ up a new farm, an’ ’ll need a wife. He talks of his mother comin’ out t’ keep house for him, but, law’s sakes! she wasn’t raised on a farm an’ wouldn’t know nothin’ about farm work. Oh, yes, I forgot t’ tell you th’ best part of my story: I got t’ carry Miss Liza Ann Parkins home on old Charlie, ’cause th’ crick rose over th’ banks outen th’ clouds of rain I prayed for!”
“Now, Si Chamberlain, there ain’t a word of truth in that, an’ you know it,” said his wife, passing Elizabeth a hot biscuit. “I walked home by th’ turnpike road, Miss Farnshaw, though we did wait a bit, till it dried up a little.”
Her husband’s laugh rang out; he had trapped Liza Ann into the discussion, in spite of herself, and he had trapped her into an admission as well.
“Well,” he said, “I may be mistaken about th’ details, but I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for th’ rainy days since that particular time.”
“But you haven’t told me why Mr. Hunter isn’t here to eat his supper,” said Elizabeth, “nor have you told me what he is like.”
“Oh, he’s gone over to Colebyville for his mail, an’ won’t be home till late—in all this mud. As to what he’s like—it ain’t easy t’ tell what John’s like; he’s—he’s a university feller; most folks say he’s a dude, but we like him?”
“What university?” Elizabeth asked with a quick indrawn breath; she knew now whom she had met on the road that afternoon.