The chains of the farm wagon rattled into the lane. Marion, on the piazza, watched the old lovers drive away.
XXII. AUNT AFFY’S EVENING.
“When He giveth quietness, who then can make trouble?”
—Job xxxiv. 29.
“I don’t want any supper,” complained Aunt Rody, rising from the supper table and staggering toward the sitting-room door. “I’m too full to eat; too full of deceit; you are all deceiving me.”
“Now, Rody,” protested Cephas, buttering his big slice of bread, with a vigorous touch.
“All, every one of you,” she said with a wail, turning with a slow effort to face the supper-table; “you have deceived me all your life, and Affy has, and Joe, and Judith, and Doodles would if he knew how. Perhaps he does in a dog’s way, which isn’t half so tremendous as the human way.”
Joe burst into a laugh, which Aunt Affy’s look instantly silenced.
“Poor Rody,” she sighed.