He got no further. Mrs. Dott, wet-eyed but radiant, lifted her head from the sofa pillow and threw her arms about his neck.
“Will you?” she cried ecstatically. “Will you, Daniel? I knew you would. You're a dear, good man and I love you better than all the world. We will be so happy. You see if we aren't.”
The captain was no less doubtful of the happiness than he had ever been, but he tried to smile and to find comfort in the thought that she was happy if he was not.
He had written Gertrude telling of her mother's new notion and asking for advice and counsel. The reply, which came by return mail, did not cheer him as much as he had hoped.
“It was inevitable, I suppose,” Gertrude wrote. “I expected it. I was almost certain that Mother would want to live in Scarford. Mrs. Black has been telling her all summer about society and club life and what she calls 'woman's opportunity,' and Mother has come to believe that Scarford is Paradise. You will have to go, I think, Daddy dear. Perhaps it is just as well. Mother won't be satisfied until she has tried it, and perhaps, after she has tried it, she may be glad to come back to Trumet. My advice is to let her find out for herself, but, of course, if you feel sure it is wrong, then you must put your foot down, say no, and stick to it. No one can do that for you; you must do it yourself.”
Which was perfectly true, as true as the other fact—namely, that Captain Dan could not “stick to it” in a controversy with his wife, having lost the sticking faculty years before.
But, oddly enough, there was one point upon which he did stick and refused to budge: That point was Azuba's going to Scarford with them. Mrs. Ginn's attitude when she was told of the family exodus was a great surprise. Serena, who broke the news to her, expected grief and lamentations; instead Azuba was delighted.
“Well, now!” she exclaimed. “Ain't that fine! Ain't that splendid! I always wanted to go somewhere's besides Trumet, and now I'm goin'. I always told Labe, my husband, that if there was one thing I was jealous of him about 'twas travelin'. 'You go from Dan to Beersheby,' I says to him, 'any time you want to.' 'Yes,' says he—this was the last time he was to home, three years ago—'Yes,' he says, 'and when I don't want to, too.' 'And I,' I says, 'I have to say stuck here in Trumet like a post in a rail fence.' 'You look more like the rail, Zuby,' he says—he's always pokin' fun 'cause I ain't fleshy. 'Don't make no difference what I LOOK like,' I says, 'here I be and I ain't never been further than the Brockton cattle show since I was ten year old.' But now I'm goin' to travel at last. My! I'm so tickled I don't know what to do. I'll start in makin' my last fall's hat over this very night. Say, it's a good thing you've got me to help in the goin' and the settlin', ain't it, Sereny—Mrs. Dott, I mean.”
In the face of this superb confidence Serena, who had intended leaving Azuba behind, lacked the courage to mention the fact. And when she sought her husband in the store and asked him to do it, he flatly refused.
“What!” he said. “Tell Zuba Ginn we're goin' to cast her adrift! I should say not! Of course we can't do any such thing, Serena.”