Tackleton laughed—quite shouted, he laughed so loud. John Peerybingle laughed too, in his ordinary, good-natured and contented manner; but his was a mere whisper of a laugh compared to Tackleton’s.
“You couldn’t help yourselves for all that,” said Tackleton. “You couldn’t resist us, you see. Here we are! Here we are! Where are your gay young bridegrooms now?”
“Some of them are dead,” said Dot; “and some of them forgotten. Some of them, if they could stand among us at this moment, would not believe that we are the same creatures, because they would not believe we could forget them so. No! they would not believe one word of it!”
“Why, Dot!” exclaimed the carrier. “Little woman!” And Dot kept quiet, while Tackleton looked at her through his half-shut eye.
May uttered no word, good or bad, but sat quite still, with her eyes downcast, and made no sign of interest in what had passed. Her mother, however, observed that girls were girls, and bygones were bygones, and that so long as young people were young and thoughtless, they would probably conduct themselves like young and thoughtless persons. She then remarked that she thanked heaven that she had always found in May a dutiful and obedient child, for which she took no credit to herself, though she had every reason to believe it was owing to herself. With regard to Mr. Tackleton, she said that he was a son-in-law to be desired, as no one in their senses could doubt.
Now, the meal ended, John Peerybingle rose to go, for he only stopped to feed his horse, and to enjoy the social hour before finishing his route. He would call for Dot on his way back. This was always the program on picnic days.
“Good-by,” he said, pulling on his dreadnought coat. “I shall be back at the usual time. Good-by, all.”
Then he called Boxer, and soon the old horse and the cart were making lively music down the road.
Caleb and Bertha were talking together at one end of the room.
“So bring me the precious baby, Tilly,” said Dot, drawing a chair to the fire; “and while I have him in my lap, here’s Mrs. Fielding, Tilly, who will tell me all about the management of babies, and straighten me out in twenty points where I’m as wrong as can be. Won’t you, Mrs. Fielding?”