Even when events appeared to the young folks in the old house to have been running with wonderful smoothness, these absent home-makers found cause for perplexity. Of late, however, there had been a dearth of “happenings”; and the soul of Ruth had something akin to that of Rosetta, in that she prophesied evil from this quietude.
“I dread to open them, mother. It is impossible but that something out of common has occurred by this time.”
“Read away, daughter. Thee had been growing wiser, I fancied; certainly, ever since thy visit home, thee has seemed less disturbed. But, read away! I am the one who is impatient now.”
Ruth prepared to comply, but an interruption occurred in the shape of a visit from an invited guest; and the fateful epistles of Content and Octave were laid aside for a more convenient hour.
“There can be nothing in them that will not keep,” said Ruth to herself, as she helped the guest to lay aside her wraps, and to make herself comfortable for the day.
The visitor was an old friend of Amy Kinsolving’s youth; and there was something so pretty in the meeting of the old ladies that Ruth utterly forgot all other interests for the next few hours. Then, before the “convenient” one arrived, another guest appeared; and that one no other than Uncle Fritz himself.
To say that his unexpected arrival set everything in commotion is to say only what would have been surmised by those who knew him best. But the commotion was still a happy one, and, if he knew anything of what Octave and Content had vainly tried to communicate, he did not mention it. Indeed, to Grandmother Kinsolving’s inquiry as to when he had heard from the children he replied: “Oh, I have but just come from there, I made them a flying visit first, then hurried right away here. I did not know I could get off so soon, though it has indeed seemed long to me since I looked upon your face, dear madam”; and the genial gentleman bowed over Mother Amy’s hand with a grace which won upon her heart, opposed even as it had always been to ceremonies.
After awhile it became evident to Aunt Ruth that Mr. Pickel had something which he particularly wished to say to her; and so, leaving her mother to enjoy her friend, the pretty Quakeress tied on her stiff bonnet and led him away to her favorite spot by the sea-shore. But, from the expression of his countenance, anxious perhaps, though not at all distressed, it did not appear that he had come to be the bearer of ill tidings; and as his confidence had nothing especial in connection with the events then enacting at The Snuggery, it need not be speculated upon here.
Suffice it to say that this confidence delayed the two—and so unlike—guardians of “a jar of pickles” for such an unheard of length of time, that Mother Amy finally grew anxious, and dispatched the pleasant-faced servant to hunt the delinquents up.
They came in, at last, looking so at peace with themselves and all the world that Mrs. Kinsolving’s own face brightened; though she opened her conversation with the gentle remonstrance: “I was sorry thee did not come in time to see friend Barbara off.”