Then the thought entered my head that his mother misrepresented “sonney’s” obedient nature. “If this is the obedience that an offspring manifests to a father,” I mentally murmured, “it were better to be destitute of the offspring.” The boy sauced me. He even went so far as to call me names anything but flattering, while I was sitting in the presence of a young lady I most ardently adored. “Go on, sonney!” I said to myself savagely, “go on, precocious youth, there are no raging bears in this suburban park to tear the flesh from the bones of mouthy children who ‘sauce’ their betters, as did the animals in the days of prophets; but nature in other ways has made provision for such as you, and has sprinkled a few shrubs around here that can pile the flesh on to a person’s bones to an alarming degree, if they get a fair chance.”
After that I paid no attention to him. He ran at will, browsed through the vines like a hungry deer, and burrowed into the very heart of the poison-oak and ivy, with as little fear as a quail retiring to roost. He enjoyed himself immensely; so he informed me in the evening. I am glad he did, for he is having a quiet time of it now. I saw him this morning, and his face was as full of expression as a Christmas pudding new rolled from the cloth. I think my lady friend will not be over-anxious to appoint me guardian over her dutiful son at another picnic. In the interests of art I have made a sketch of “sonney” as he appeared this morning, striving to recognize me by my voice, which he failed to do, however, being deaf as he was blind.
HAVING A QUIET TIME.
SEEKING FOR A WIFE.
And it came to pass about the year one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three, being in the autumn, when the new wine was oozing from the press, and the corn was hardening in the crib, a bachelor, a farmer of great possessions, dwelling in the valley of Berryessa, bent above his resting plow, and thus communed with himself:—
“My stacks are builded, my wine is dripping from the press, the ripe ears are garnered in my cribs, my flocks and herds feed fat upon the hills; and yet, because of my loneliness, am I unhappy.
“I will arise at eve and repair to my neighbor’s cottage. Peradventure the aged widow of the murdered gypsy can counsel me.”
So when the evening hour was come, the farmer arose and sought the aged widow’s abode.
And as he drew nigh to the cottage, he lifted up his eyes and, behold! the crone sat upon her door-step.