“No, pap, no they hain’t,” piped shrilly into the old man’s ear.
His face dropped with evident disappointment, and there was an embarrassed moment for all of them.
“Mother Greely,” said Nancy gaily, determinedly recovering herself, “have you got any of those molasses cakes you used to give us when we came over?”
“Wal now, I think I hev,” said the old woman, rising as quickly as her stiffened limbs would let her.
Steve looked down at Nancy as Tildy went in, smiled, and said:
“Shall we sit on the door-step, as we used to?”
Nancy’s eyes did not meet his, and she turned her head to hide that provokingly rising colour as she sat down in a matter-of-fact way.
When they rode away from the mill, having made 177 the aged couple happy with the renewal of old times, Steve again with eager yearning strained his inner vision for a glimpse into her heart, but she betrayed not the slightest consciousness of the embarrassing episode.
As the horses went leisurely back along through the wood, Steve and Nancy talked gently of the two old people with their wondrous mountain combination of barest poverty, dense ignorance, keen intelligence, simple kindliness and gentle dignity,––qualities which the young folks were now prepared to recognize.
“It is curious how like two people grow from constant association,” said Steve at last, musingly. “The resemblance between the old miller and his wife is striking, isn’t it?”