“Come! I’d ‘a’ had ’em come before, while Ella Perkins could ‘a’ feasted her eyes on ’em. Thaddeus,”--Mrs. Clayton rose to her feet and stretched out two gaunt hands longingly,--“Thaddeus, I get so hungry sometimes for Jehiel and Hannah Jane, seems as though I jest couldn’t stand it!”
“I know--I know, dearie,” quavered the old man, vigorously polishing his glasses.
“Fifty years ago my first baby came,” resumed the woman in tremulous tones; “then another came, and another, till I’d had six. I loved ’em, an’ tended ’em, an’ cared fer ’em, an’ didn’t have a thought but was fer them babies. Four died,”--her voice broke, then went on with renewed strength,--“but I’ve got Jehiel and Hannah Jane left; at least, I’ve got two bits of paper that comes mebbe once a month, an’ one of ’em’s signed ‘your dutiful son, Jehiel,’ an’ the other, ’from your loving daughter, Hannah Jane.’”
“Well, Harriet, they--they’re pretty good ter write letters,” ventured Mr. Clayton.
“Letters!” wailed his wife. “I can’t hug an’ kiss letters, though I try to, sometimes. I want warm flesh an’ blood in my arms, Thaddeus; I want ter look down into Jehiel’s blue eyes an’ hear him call me ’dear old mumsey!’ as he used to. I wouldn’t ask ’em ter stay--I ain’t unreasonable, Thaddeus. I know they can’t do that.”
“Well, well, wife, mebbe they’ll come--mebbe they’ll come this summer; who knows?”
She shook her head dismally.
“You’ve said that ev’ry year for the last fifteen summers, an’ they hain’t come yet. Jehiel went West more than twenty years ago, an’ he’s never been home since. Why, Thaddeus, we’ve got a grandson ’most eighteen, that we hain’t even seen! Hannah Jane’s been home jest once since she was married, but that was nigh on ter sixteen years ago. She’s always writin’ of her Tommy and Nellie, but--I want ter see ’em, Thaddeus; I want ter see ’em!”
“Yes, yes; well, we’ll ask ’em, Harriet, again--we’ll ask ’em real urgent-like, an’ mebbe that’ll fetch ’em,” comforted the old man. “We’ll ask ’em ter be here the Fourth; that’s eight weeks off yet, an’ I shall be real smart by then.”
Two letters that were certainly “urgent-like” left the New England farmhouse the next morning. One was addressed to a thriving Western city, the other to Chattanooga, Tennessee.