“My, isn’t it just too delightful to be happy!” cried small Steenie, in the fulness of her rapture; and the instant laugh which greeted her quaint exclamation was answer sufficient.
“It’s taken ferever ter git these things tore up an’ out o’ place; but I guess they’ll ’bout fly back inter it ag’in, o’ their own accord,” said Mary Jane, unwrapping the parlor “table-spread” and recklessly throwing away the string. While Resolved puffed and stretched at that carpet, determined to keep ahead of Bob’s resolute, speedy “tack,” “tack,” without one grunt or groan.
Wasn’t it fun to put that old house “to rights” once more? Wasn’t it? Such fun that, as Mary Jane prophesied, the furniture almost seemed to march itself back into position; while Steenie was allowed, not only to handle, but to unpack and restore to their own shelves the precious books which seemed “folks a’most” to their loving owner.
But to all sunshine there is shadow. To the brightest day succeeds a twilight; and a spiritual twilight fell upon these happy people, when, after all was done that could be done, they gathered about the blazing fire on the great hearth-stone in the dining-room, and heard the story which Kentucky Bob had come so far to tell.
“’Pears as if I didn’t know how to begin it. But I must; though I ain’t no oraytor, I ain’t. Come a here, Little Un. The ‘boss’ won’t mind a sparin’ of ye to me I ’low, an’ mebbe I kin talk straighter a feelin’ yer little hand in mine. Good little hand, strong little hand, lovin’ little hand, that takes right a holt o’ everybody’s heart an’ pulls it out o’ wickedness an’ inter the straight. Pulled old Sutry Vives out o’ malice an’ murder, ter live a Christian an’ die a martyr.”
“What? What?” cried Steenie, aghast.
“Hush, Little Un, don’t! It’s ’bout all old Bob kin do, anyhow—an’—Don’t make a break in the perceedin’s ag’in, if ye kin help it, don’t! ’Cause I ain’t much uset ter preachin’, an’ this here—is ’bout a—funeral sermon!”
He needed not to hush any one again, not even when the “sermon” was ended.
“Sutry, he come hum. When he come I happened ter meet him, an’ when he stepped out o’ the car at San’ Felis’ I didn’t scurcely know him. Some o’ his folks lived above a hunderd; but couldn’t none on ’em ever looked so old as Sutry did that day. An’ when I spoke to him an’ told him ‘Howdy!’ he jest stared up inter my face—No matter! He’s square; squarest man I ever knowed.
“He told me ’t he’d made his will. He’d gin ever’thing he got ter the Little Un. ‘Everything you’ve got?’ says I, laughin’, harsh like.