“My dear Gilbert, do as you will—go where you will. Anywhere”—said the wife, and at length her heart loosened, and she fell upon her husband’s neck—“so that we go all together.”
Bessy laid down her work, and silently crept round her father’s chair, and without a word, mingled her arms with her mother’s. The old man felt the pressure of his daughter, and hugging wife and child close at his heart, he cried—“Yes; all together—all together.” And in a minute, in a gay voice, and his eyes sparkling through their mist, Carraways said—“Come, it’s time to go to bed. Good night,” and he kissed his daughter. “I shall not be up long; but I want to finish these few pages.” And Carraways was left alone; trying with all his might to see a Land of Promise for his old age in a golden book, written for the hopes of emigrants.
The next morning, Basil Pennibacker—for we must for a page or two return to him—rose, determined to see Primrose Row by daylight. As he took his breakfast, his looks fell with peculiar satisfaction upon a large bunch of heartsease that, ere he slept, with his own hands he had placed in water; that, ere he had sat down to begin his meal, he had examined with an eye more curious than was his wont in the small matter of flowers. Indeed, he was himself a little surprised at the interest hanging about his heart for those few bits of purple and yellow “freaked with jet.” However, he was satisfied of their beauty and freshness; and therefore breakfasted as heartily as man with cheerful conscience may.
It was about mid-day when Bessy was broken in upon by the servant girl, who came almost in a bunch into the room—so hurried, so anxious, and withal so pleased seemed she to deliver her tidings—to proclaim with scarlet face, and panting breath that—“there was a gentleman below that wanted Miss.” Now, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Carraways were in. This circumstance the girl observed, she knew, and had already acquainted the gentleman with the fact; a fact that, in truth, had in no way disconcerted him. Bessy was finally stopt in her inquiries by the girl, who remembered she had a card.
“Mr. Basil Pennibacker.”—
Bessy reddened as she took it. “Yes, Miss, I’ll show him up directly,” said the girl.
“Stay, Susan—I—yes; you are quite right. Pray show the gentleman in,” said Bessy; and, as she heard the foot of Basil on the stairs, her heart kept count with every step, and she felt cold as a stone.
Basil entered the room. We verily believe his own mother—doting parent that she was—would not have known him. He was almost awkward in his bashfulness; his eyes wandered; he feebly smiled; and deeply blushed. Bessy, somehow, showed most courage of the two.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Pennibacker, that there is no one but myself at home. Very sorry that”—
“Pray don’t mention it, Miss Carraways; I assure you I—that is—I hope Mr. and Mrs. Carraways are well; as well, my dear madam”—and Basil began to feel his ground—“as well as I could wish them.”