In the days that followed he wooed her patiently, seeking constantly to find some favour with her, and grateful beyond words when he succeeded ever so little. At first, he could win but slight notice of any sort from her, and that only at rare and uncertain intervals. But gradually his unobtrusive efforts told, and, little by little, she began to take him into her confidence. The first day she invited him to play with her in one of her games was a day of rejoicing for him. She showed him the dolls.
“Now, this is the mother and this is the little baby of it, and we will have a tea-party.”
She drew up a chair, placed the two dolls under it, and pointed to the opening between the rungs.
“Here is the house, and here is a little door where to go in at. You must be very, very particulyar when you go in. Now what shall we cook?” And she clasped her hands, looking up at him with waiting eagerness.
He suggested cake and tea. But this answer proved to be wrong.
“Oh, no!”—there was scorn in her tones—“Buffalo-hump and marrowbones and vebshtulls and lemon-coffee.”
He received the suggestion cordially, and tried to fall in with it, but she soon detected that his mind was not pliable enough for the game. She was compelled at last to dismiss him, though she accomplished the ungracious thing tactfully.
“Perhaps you have some farming to do out at the barn, because my dollies can’t be very well with you at a tea-party, because you are too much.”
But she had shown a purpose of friendliness, and this sufficed him. And that night, before her bed-time, when he sat in front of the fire, she came with a most matter-of-fact unconsciousness to climb into his lap. He held her a long time, trying to breathe gently and not daring to move lest he make her uncomfortable. Her head pillowed on his arm, she was soon asleep, and he refused to give her up when Martha came to put her to bed.
Though their intimacy grew during the winter, so that she called him her father and came confidingly to him at all times, in tears or in laughter, yet he never ceased to feel an aloofness from her, an awkwardness in her presence, a fear that the mother who looked from her eyes might at any moment call to him.