He caught my eye and blushed and laughed.
“Poor old Cyrus! he told me, himself,” he said; “he fancied I should care, I think. But only imagine Cy making love! How did he ever manage it? It must have been like an elephant dancing. But he got there, didn’t he? You never can tell about girls! And he deserves to succeed. I can see now, Bathsheba, that we haven’t always appreciated Cyrus.”
We! and in the old days he had always reckoned Cyrus and me together. Loveday need not have feared that the aliens would never be just like the rest of us.
“Don’t trouble about me, Bathsheba,” he added, lightly. “There are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught!”
“Dave, have you been going to Peggy Carruthers’ little studio teas?” I asked, eagerly.
“Little studio teas!” he echoed, with a non-committal laugh, “as if I were not a business man! I’m not the one that’s going to change my name to Carruthers!”
And he went off, whistling gaily; but I didn’t know. To this day I don’t know! But could I be less than content, as I sat upon the orchard slope and thought of the wonderful way in which things had worked together for good for us all? And we were all in one heart, “own folks” at last, even Rob and his father.
The busy hum of the yard—shipyard—mingled again with the placid song of our beautiful river. The soft, blue summer sky bent over us like a benediction, and God’s providence was our sure inheritance.
Viola’s voice aroused me from my meditations:
“Miss Bathsheba, Leander’s cousin has come about the hogs’-head-cheese!” she said.