“I did. I saw him with a collar on, and no violin. He had combed his hair; and she wore white cotton gloves.”
“Well, we all thought it was settled. The only thing that worried us was how Haystack was to care for a wife when he got one. He has always been more or less like Tommy Tucker, singing for his supper—or rather, playing on Betsy, his violin. But for a time the violin had to stay in the background, which made some of us feel rather sad. We hardly liked to have Haystack settle down like other folks and be domestic and regular. But we needn’t have worried.”
“No?”
“No. Little Mrs. Kitchell got a new gray Henrietta, and a gray velvet hat with a real plume, and made herself twelve new of everything, aprons included, and there was general excitement. The ladies about town began to give her presents and to insist that they should all be invited to the wedding, and to ask when it was to be. But Mrs. Kitchell didn’t quite know. ‘Very soon,’ she said. ‘In a week or two.’ She said that for quite a while. Then one morning, Haystack disappeared.”
“Oh, Annie Laurie!”
“Yes, he did. Just disappeared. He took Betsy the violin, and left all his new collars behind. Likewise his suit of blue diagonal that he was to have been married in. That was all, except a bunch of bittersweet berries tied with grass, which poor little Anne Kitchell found on her account book. Under it he had written the word ‘Good-bye.’”
“How did she take it?”
“Well, she sent for Aunt Zillah, and of course Aunt Zillah hurried right over to her and kept giving her dry handkerchiefs till she got over the worst of it. I think Aunt Zillah made the reason of his defection clear to her. ‘You couldn’t shut Mr. Thompson up in a house and keep him there any more than you could a catamount,’ she told her. ‘He’s a wander man and a music man. What would he be if he were to settle down and play a respectable part?’ Little Anne Kitchell admitted it. I liked him because he was so different from other folks,’ she said. ‘He didn’t seem to have no care nor trouble, but I suppose if I’d married him, he would have had.’ ‘Of course he would,’ said Aunt Zillah. ‘He would have had stepchildren, and they might not have liked him. And you would have wanted him to be proper and regular in his habits, and he would have fretted like a caged hawk.’ ‘I reckon it’s all for the best,’ said Anne Kitchell, and dried her tears. So no more has been heard from Haystack. He’s free again, drinking out of springs, sleeping in the woods, playing his violin to squirrels and children and lovers. As for Anne Kitchell, she is wearing her fine clothes and is setting her cap for a heavy-set man who has just come to town and set up a feed store.’”
Oh, Carin, isn’t that fun? And aren’t you glad Haystack Thompson got off? I’d hate to have civilization trap him, wouldn’t you?
Well, well, I started to tell you about my ball. It was a wonderful ball. We danced in the drawing-room under the luster candelabra, and we danced down the long corridor with the carved panels. We women were all shining in beautiful garments, but I haven’t any desire to describe them to you, except that my little grandmother wore a gown of cloth of silver and rose point lace and all of her diamonds; and I, to please her—and it almost drove poor Aunt Lorena wild—chose a queer old silk of hers striped like ribbon grass in white and greeny-white and faded lilac and mauve. Over it I draped the thinnest silken lace. Then grandmother gave me a necklace of darling little pearls, and I had white satin slippers with little butterflies embroidered on them in greeny-white and faded pink, and a fan of the same colors, painted with butterfly wings.