His gray eyes were positively mysterious with interrupted dreams
I found out about the pajamas from questioning Aunt Martha discreetly. They seemed so incongruous in relation to the usual old Henry Clay coat and stock collar, that I had to know the reason why. Mrs. Hargrove's son was a very worldly man, she says, and wore them. It comforts her to make them for the Crag to wear in memoriam. He wears the collars Cousin Martha makes him with her own fingers after the pattern she made his father's by, for the same reason, and lets Cousin Jasmine cut his hair because she always cut her father's, Colonel Horton's, until his death. That accounts for the ante-bellum curls and the irregular tags in the back. I almost laughed when Cousin Martha was telling me, but I remembered how a glow rose in my heart when I saw that he still had Father's little old Confederate comrade tailor cut his coats on the same pattern on which he had cut Father's, since the days of reconstruction. Sometimes it startles me to find that with all my emancipation I am very like other women.
But I wonder what I would do if Sallie attired him in any of the late Henry's wearing apparel?
"What do you suppose is the why of such useless things as slugs?" I speculated to stop that thought off sharp as we crawled down the row together, he searching one side of each bush and I the other.
"Well, they brought on this nice companionable hunt for them, didn't they?" he asked, looking over into my eyes with a laugh.
"I wanted to see you early this morning anyway," he hastily resumed. "Sallie and the Dominie sat talking to you so late last night that I didn't feel it was fair to come across after they left. But I wanted you so I could hardly get to sleep, and I was just half awake from a dream of you, when I came into the garden."
"My evenings don't belong to anybody, if you need them, Jamie, and you don't have to be told that," I answered crossly when I thought what a grand time I might have been having talking about real things with the Crag, instead of wrestling with Polk's romantics or Sallie's and Mr. Haley's gush.
"Go on and tell me all about it, while I crawl after you like a worm myself," I snapped still further.