“Why Jerusalem jinger!
“No wonder she thought I was a low-down dog—to buy sech a thing an’ mark it in my own name—no wonder—here on Christmus, too. The idee o’ Rowton not seein’ to it thet it was done right——”
By this time the little woman had somewhat recovered herself. Still, she stammered fearfully.
“R-r-r-owton ain’t never s-s-s-saw that pitcher. It come from L-l-l-awson’s, d-d-down at Washin’ton, an’ I b-brought it for y-y-y-you!”
“Why, honey-darlin’—” A sudden light came into the old man’s eyes. He seized the lamp and hurried to the door of the bed-chamber, and looked in. This was enough. Perhaps it was mean—but he could not help it—he set the lamp down on the table, dropped into a chair, and fairly howled with laughter.
“No wonder I dremp’ ol’ Mis’ Meredy was twins!” he screamed. “Why, h-h-honey,” he was nearly splitting his old sides—“why, honey, I ain’t seen a thing but these two swingin’ pitchers all night. They’ve been dancin’ before me—them an’ what seemed like a pair o’ ol’ Mis’ Meredys, an’ between ’em all I ain’t slep’ a wink.”
“N-n-either have I. An’ I dremp’ about ol’ Mis’ M-m-m-eredy, too. I dremp’ she had come to live with us—an’ thet y-y-you an’ me had moved into the back o’ the house. That’s why I got up. I couldn’t sleep easy, an’ I thought I might ez well git up an’ see wh-wh-what you’d brought me. But I didn’t no mor’n glance at it. But you can’t say you didn’t sleep, for you was a-s-s-snorin’ when I come out here——”
“An’ so was you, honey, when I ’ranged them things on the mantel. Lemme go an’ git the other set an’ compare ’em. That one I picked out is mighty purty.”
“I’ll tell you befo’ you fetch ’em thet they’re exactly alike”—she began to cry again—“even to the p-p-polar bear. I saw that at a glance, an’ it makes it s-s-so much more ridic’——”
“Hush, honey. I’m reely ashamed of you—I reely am. Seems to me ef they’re jest alike so much the better. What’s the matter with havin’ a pair of ’em? We might use one for butter-milk.”