“That he was a rale little jintleman, and ’twas Brindle as ought to ax the pardon, as had been tached kicking was not genteel for his likes.”
Aunt Emma remained sitting under the “Elm,” for she had caught a glimpse of the old Brown carryall coming up the road, and wanted to prepare Mrs. Brown for the surprise which awaited her.
The carryall stopped at the side-door of the carriage, and Mrs. Brown and Norah, her “help,” descended, and proceeded to unpack their city purchases; then, as Norah led off the horse to the barn, the good farmer’s wife, for the first time, discovered Aunt Emma coming to meet her.
The kindly round face, with its crown of silver locks, grew radiant with delight, as, with both hands extended, she hasted to greet her guest.
“Well, now, I want to know! However did you get here, Miss Emma, and not a living soul to meet you and say a word of welcome? Please just step into my cool parlor, and I’ll have a cup of tea and a bit of somewhat to refresh you.”
“Certainly I will go in; but, my good Mrs. Brown, you must hear my story first. My nephew and his four children are with me for a week, and John’s heart was set on showing his young folk ‘the old Brown Farm’ and his good friends, and I thought it would be a novelty to those city children to have an out-of-door tea under these trees. Now, stop, Mrs. Brown, I know what you want to say, but you must only give us a pitcher of your rich milk and a pot of tea, for Celia has packed a basket. I have brought the two women who will wait on us, so you and your husband must take tea with us. Here come Nan and Charlotte to set the table.”
“Well, really Miss Emma, I shall admire to join you, and so will father, but you must let me bring out a pan of my molasses cake that Master John was so fond of, dear boy! I can see him now. He’d never ask for a thing, not he, but when he put his head of a Saturday in at my kitchen door, I could seem to read ‘molasses cake’ in the twinkle of his eyes, and it was our joke,—his and mine,—I would say ‘Johnnie boy, could you worry down a bit of my molasses cake?’
“‘I’ll try, Ma’am,’ he would answer so dutiful like, ‘and if I can’t, I’ll hide it where no human eye can see it.’
“My poor Father, him that’s sleepin’ now in yonder buryin’ ground, he’d be a sittin’ behind the door, for fear of the draught, and he’d be took with such a fit of coughin’. Don’t you see, Miss Emma, he was one of them good Puritans, and it’s part of their religion, bless their dear souls, not to laugh at jokes, and so they take to coughin’? But I’ll just stop my gossip and put on my best sewin’ meetin’ cap with bright ribands. These gray old locks, mayhap, might give Mr. John a sort of far-away feelin’, for you know, Miss Emma, before my great sorrow came, years agone, there was ne’er a white hair on my head. He’d a been just two years older than Mr. John, and maybe his own bairnies would have been sportin’ round the farm cheerin’ the old folks’ hearts. Ah! well-a-day! We’ve had our cup of joys, and now ’tis fittin’ we should be helpin’ put the cup brimmin’ to the young folks’ lips. I won’t be gone a second, Ma’am.”