“We’ve never met before to my knowledge, young woman,” he said once to Agnes, “but you are mighty like somebody, and your voice, when you talk low, keeps makin’ me jump as if I’d heard it summers or other.”
After that Agnes spoke in elevated tones, as if she thought him deaf, and the mystified look of wonder did not return to his face. Numerous were the charges he gave to Agnes concerning Maddy, bidding her be watchful of his child, and see that she did not “get too much taken in with the wicked things on Broadway!” then, as he arose to go, he laid his trembling hand on her head, and said solemnly, “You are young yet, lady, and there may be a long life before you. God bless you, then, and prosper you in proportion as you are kind to Maddy. I’ve nothin’ to give you nor Mr. Guy for your goodness, only my prayers, and them you have every day. We all pray for you, lady, Joseph and all, though I doubt me he knows much the meaning of what he says.”
“Who, sir? What did you say?” and Agnes’s face was scarlet, as grandpa replied, “Joseph, our unfortunate boy; Maddy must have told you; the one who’s taken such a shine to Jessie. He’s crazy-like, and from the corner where he sits so much, I can hear him whispering by the hour, sometimes of folks he used to know, and then of you, whom he calls madam. He says, for ten minutes on the stretch: ‘God bless the madam—the madam—the madam!’ that’s because you are good to Maddy. You’re sick, lady; talkin’ about crazy folks makes you faint,” grandpa added hastily, as Agnes turned white as the dress she wore.
“No—oh, no, I’m better now,” Agnes gasped, bowing him to the door with a feeling that she could not breathe a moment longer in his presence.
He did not hear her faint cry of bitter remorse, as he walked through the hall, or know she watched him as he went slowly down the walk, stopping often to admire the fair blossoms which Maddy did not feel at liberty to pick.
“He loved flowers,” Agnes whispered, as her better nature prevailed over every other feeling, and, starting eagerly forward, she ran after the old man who, surprised at her evident haste, waited a little anxiously for her to speak.
It was rather difficult to do so with Maddy’s inquiring eyes upon her, but Agnes managed at last to say:
“Does that crazy man like flowers—the one who prays for the madam?”
“Yes, he used to, years ago,” grandpa replied; and, bending down, Agnes began to pick and arrange into a most tasteful bouquet the blossoms and buds, growing so profusely within the borders.
“Take them to him, will you?” and her hands shook as she passed to Grandpa Markham the gift which would thrill poor crazy Joseph with a strange delight, making him hold converse awhile with the unseen presence which he called “she,” and then to whisper blessings on the madam’s head.