But Thankful was in a measure herself again.
“Don't talk so, Solomon,” she cried. “You have got somebody of your own blood. I'm a relation of yours, even if 'tis a far-off relation. I—I don't know how to thank you for this. I—”
He interrupted again.
“Yes,” he wailed, “you're my relation. I know it. Think that makes it any better? Look how I've treated you. No, no; I'm goin' to die and go—”
“You're goin' to have breakfast, that's what you're goin' to have. And it shan't be warmed up fried clams either. Emily, you stay with him. I'm goin' to the kitchen.”
She fled to the kitchen, where, between fits of crying and laughing, which would have alarmed Imogene had she been there, she tried to prepare a breakfast which might tempt the repentant money-lender. Emily joined her after a short interval.
“He won't listen to anything,” said the young lady. “He has been frightened almost to death, that's certain. He is praying now. I came away and left him praying. Oh, Auntie, isn't it wonderful! Isn't it splendid!”
Thankful sighed. “It's so wonderful I can scarcely believe it,” she said. “To think of his givin' up money—givin' it away of his own accord! I said last night that Jedediah's comin' home was a miracle. This one beats that all to pieces. I don't know what to do about takin' that thousand from him,” she added. “I declare I don't. 'Course I shan't take it in the long run; I'll pay it back soon as ever I can. But should I pretend to take it now? That's what troubles me.”
“Of course you should. He is rich and he doesn't need it. What have you done with that receipt? Put it away somewhere and in a safe place. He is frightened; that—that something, whatever it was, last night—frightened him so that he will give away anything now. But, by and by, when his fright is over he may change his mind. Lock up that paper, Aunt Thankful. If you don't, I will.”
“But what was it that frightened him, Emily? I declare I'm gettin' afraid to stay in this house myself. What was it he heard—and we heard?”