“But I will--I don’t--I didn’t mean it,” sobbed Diantha incoherently. “I’d rather have Dolly twice over. I like ter crawl. Oh, Phineas, I hate that thing--I’ve always hated it! I’ll say yes next week--to-morrow--to-day if you’ll only open your eyes and tell me you ain’t a-dyin’!”
Phineas was not dying, and he proved it promptly and effectually, even to the doubting Diantha’s blushing content. And there their rescuers found them a long half-hour later--a blissful old man and a happy old woman sitting hand in hand by the wrecked automobile.
“I cal’lated somebody’d be along purty soon,” said Phineas, rising stiffly. “Ye see, we’ve each got a foot that don’t go, so we couldn’t git help; but we hain’t minded the wait--not a mite!”
The Most Wonderful Woman
And a Great Man who proves himself truly great
It was Old Home Week in the little village, and this was to be the biggest day. From a distant city was to come the town’s one really Great Man, to speak in the huge tent erected on the Common for just that purpose. From end to end the village was aflame with bunting and astir with excitement, so that even I, merely a weary sojourner in the place, felt the thrill and tingled pleasantly.
When the Honorable Jonas Whitermore entered the tent at two o’clock that afternoon I had a good view of him, for my seat was next the broad aisle. Behind him on the arm of an usher came a small, frightened-looking little woman in a plain brown suit and a plainer brown bonnet set askew above thin gray hair. The materials of both suit and bonnet were manifestly good, but all distinction of line and cut was hopelessly lost in the wearing. Who she was I did not know; but I soon learned, for one of the two young women in front of me said a low something to which the other gave back a swift retort, woefully audible: “His wife? That little dowdy thing in brown? Oh, what a pity! Such an ordinary woman!”
My cheeks grew hot in sympathy with the painful red that swept to the roots of the thin gray hair under the tip-tilted bonnet. Then I glanced at the man.
Had he heard? I was not quite sure. His chin, I fancied, was a trifle higher. I could not see his eyes, but I did see his right hand; and it was clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white with the strain. I thought I knew then. He had heard. The next minute he had passed on up the aisle and the usher was seating the more-frightened-than-ever little wife in the roped-off section reserved for important guests.
It was then that I became aware that the man on my right was saying something.