“That is the place,” she said, as they turned the corner which brought the old farm-house in view. “Uncle Phil talks of building a new house in the spring,—a Gothic cottage,—only, he says if he does, there is nobody to live in it but himself and Aunt Becky.”
“The nigger, you mean,” Aunt Jerry said, rather crisply; and, as one of the ponies shied a little just then, Edna said no more of the Gothic cottage, but gave her attention to her horses, until they drew up before the unpretentious building, which Aunt Jerry eyed sharply, keeping her veil closely drawn over her face, and feeling a decided trembling in her knees, as she walked through the gate and up to the front door, where she intended waiting till Edna could tie her ponies, and was ready to usher her in.
But,—greatly to her surprise,—the door swung open, seemingly by itself,—for she saw no living being; only a voice, which came from behind the door, and sounded a little smothered, said to her: “Walk in, Jerry, and make yourself at home.”
Then she walked in; and, as the owner of the voice emerged into view, and offered her his hand, she said: “How do you do, Philip?” as naturally as if it had been yesterday they parted, instead of thirty years before.
Poor Uncle Phil had been quite as much exercised on the subject of his wardrobe as Aunt Jerry had been with hers. He wanted to go decent to the wedding, and not disgrace Dotty’s grand relations, he said. “He’d been looking like a codger long enough, and he meant to fix up, and pay the fiddler.” Nothing in Rocky Point, however, would answer his purpose; and when Edna suggested Millville, he sneered at that, and even spoke contemptuously of Albany and its tailors! Where did Roy get his clothes made? Wan’t it in New York, and why couldn’t he go there as well as anywhere? Accordingly the old man went to New York, from which place he returned so metamorphosed that the boys in the streets followed him as a natural curiosity, and the men hollowed after him to know what had happened, as he walked from the depot home, arrayed in his new suit of clothes, which made him look so trim and youthful, with his turn-over collar, and his necktie, and soft hat. Even his shoes and shirts were city made; and he looked very nice, and very much ashamed as he hurried home, glad to be out of sight of the curious, impertinent boys, and wondering what they would say “to his t’other suit,—his very best, with the little tail-coat, and the stove-pipe hat,” for he had indulged in these extravagances, as they were safe in the trunk which the hackman left at the door.
Edna was delighted to see him, and complimented him greatly on his personal appearance, and never dreamed why all this change had been made by her eccentric uncle, or guess how nervous and excited he was on the day when Aunt Jerry was expected. She had asked him to accompany her to the depot, but he had declined, and after she was gone had donned his second-best suit, and put on one of his new neckties, and indulged in cuffs and cuff-buttons, and a white pocket-handkerchief, which he grasped in his hand as tightly as if it had been the spar which was to keep him from drowning. When he heard the whistle of the train, he was sitting in his arm-chair by the fire, but quick as if he had been shot, he sprang to his feet, exclaiming: “The Lord help me!” while, in the palms of his hands, and under his hair, were little drops of sweat, wrung out by sheer nervousness and excitement. He saw the carriage when it turned the corner, but the young girl with the jaunty hat and feather, holding the reins so skilfully, and managing the horses so well, was nothing to him then. He only saw the tall, erect woman at her side, with the veil over her face, and the rich furs about her shoulders.
“Straight yet as an Injun, and as gritty, too, I’ll bet you,” he said to himself, as, stationing himself by the window, he watched Aunt Jerry’s descent from the vehicle, and then as he saw her come up the walk, he ran behind the door and opened it for her with the salutation we have recorded elsewhere.
Edna was close behind, so close indeed, that she saw the look in Uncle Phil’s face, and heard Aunt Jerry’s, “How do you do, Philip?” and in an instant the truth flashed upon her, taking her breath away and rendering her speechless for a moment. Then confronting them both, she exclaimed; “Oh, Uncle Phil,—Aunt Jerry,—I never knew,—I never guessed,—I never thought,—”
“Well, don’t think now, or if you do, keep your thoughts to yourself,” was Aunt Jerry’s characteristic reply, as she walked into the sitting-room with Uncle Phil following after her, standing first on one foot, then upon the other, spitting a great deal, and flourishing his handkerchief almost in her face in his zeal to make her welcome.
“Come upstairs,” Edna said; and glad to escape from the curious eyes of the fidgety little man, whom she had mentally pronounced “fat and pussy,—just as I knew he was,” Aunt Jerry accompanied her niece to her room, while Uncle Phil said softly to himself: “Yes, yes; better go before I bust the biler; good-lookin’ craft, though, you bet,” and he nodded at the figure-head of the tall clock in the corner as if that knew and appreciated his feelings.