“Nonsense, wife! Thou art a child to this day.”
“Then kiss me, mon pere.” And she ran to him and stood on tiptoe, so engaging and so pretty that he could not help but lift up her slight figure, and, kissing her, set her down. It was a moment of rare tenderness. Would I had known or seen more like it!
“Thou wilt ruin him, wife.”
As I ran down the garden she called after me, “Do not thou forget to kiss her hand. To-morrow will come the warehouse; but take the sweets of life as they offer. Adieu.” She stood to watch me, all her dear heart in her eyes, something pure, and, as it were, virginal in her look. God rest her soul!
It was late when I got to my aunt’s, somewhere about eight, and the hum of voices warned me of her having company. As I entered she rose, expecting an older guest, and, as I had been bid, I bowed low and touched her hand with my lips, as I said:
“Dear Aunt Gainor, it has been so long!” I could have said nothing better. She laughed.
“Here is my nephew, Mr. Etherington”—this to an English major; “and, Captain Wallace of the king’s navy, my nephew.”
The captain was a rough, boisterous sailor, and the other a man with too much manner, and, as I heard later, risen from the ranks.
He saluted me with a lively thump on the shoulder, which I did not relish. “Zounds! sir, but you are a stout young Quaker!”
“We are most of us Quakers here, captain,” said a quiet gentleman, who saw, I fancy, by my face that this rude greeting was unpleasant to me.