Perhaps all the dew which fell upon the geraniums did not come from the old tea-pot. Miss Tribbey’s mother had been alive when lanky Nathan Peck began “keeping company” with Temperance. Up-stairs in a certain box there yet were quilts that she had “patched” in anticipation of the wedding which Miss Tribbey’s sense of duty had deferred all these years.
Miss Tribbey sighed, and went and carefully considered her countenance in the little square of greenish glass which served as a mirror in her kitchen. She turned away with something like a sob in her throat. “I’m losin’ my looks,” she said. Then after a moment’s pause she drew herself a little more erect, and going to a drawer put on a huge and fresh white apron. She was meeting the ravages of Time with the defences at her disposal. Brave Temperance!
When some two hours later Nathan Peck entered for his supper with the others, he thought that never, surely in all the world, could there be a more soul-satisfying sight than his “Temp’rins.”
“She beats all the young ’uns yet, by jing, if she don’t!” he said to himself as he soused himself with soap and water by the door before he came in.
“Here’s the comb, Nat,” said Temperance, handing him that useful article. He took it, combed his straggly hair straight down over his eyes, and then looked at Temperance appealingly through the ragged fringe.
Temperance’s heart was very soft to-night. She took the comb and parted his hair. When she had finished, she let the palm of her hand smooth over the top and rest an instant. He caught it, and the two looked at each other. What were years and hard-wrought hands to them? They saw themselves young and beautiful in each other’s eyes. That sufficed them.
Meanwhile Lanty had passed through the kitchen to the front porch, and not finding Mabella there had come back to the kitchen.
“Well, Temperance,” he said cheerily, “how’s the world using you? And Temperance—where’s Mabella?”
“She’s layin’ down,” said Temperance; “she had a sort o’ spell when she came in and I made her go to bed.”