“I think it’s about time for you to go to bed now, James,” his guardian said presently, and James rose promptly.
“Would you mind calling me Jim? It sounds kinder homesick to be called James,” he said, with sudden wistfulness engendered, even in his boyish spirit, by the shadows and the newness of the place.
“Good-night, Jim,” Miss Lucinda responded; but Jim still stood looking at her with serious eyes.
“My aunt useter kiss me good-night. You don’t exactly look like the kissin’ kind, and I ain’t neither, but—but I didn’t know, seein’ ’s you’re so good to me, but—p’r’aps”—he flushed and shifted himself from one foot to the other.
Miss Lucinda flushed, too, and looked greatly embarrassed, but hers was no stony heart to refuse so gallant a suitor; she stooped and kissed him awkwardly and flutteringly somewhere upon his forehead or hair; but when she would have felt her duty over, he suddenly seized her in an impetuous hug. He went upstairs quickly, and Miss Lucinda sat down in her little rocking-chair with hot, red cheeks, and something deeper than embarrassment brought a new light into her clear eyes.
“I think he tries hard to be a good boy,” Miss Lucinda said to the minister when he next called, “but he does a great many things that are rather startling, and now and then he says something he oughtn’t to.”
“Yes?” the minister said, in kindly interest.
“The very first day he got here, he swore at the table.” The minister looked horrified. “Of course I spoke of it right off and he hasn’t done it again. He was kind of excited about playing Indian, and I don’t suppose he really meant it; he said”—the minister reddened and looked away, and Miss Lucinda flushed—“he said ‘Jiminy.’” The minister drew out his handkerchief and coughed slightly. “But, as I say, he hasn’t said anything since, and I think I could get along very well if Fourth of July wasn’t coming so soon. But what do you think? He wants a soldier suit, and firecrackers, and all sorts of things. If only he hadn’t come till after the Fourth! I never did approve of it. I always did think it was a heathenish holiday,” and Miss Lucinda broke off feelingly.
After the minister had gone Miss Lucinda started to go to the village store. Jim usually did the errands, but this was something that had been overlooked, and he was at play, out of calling distance.
On Miss Lucinda’s return, as she came through the lane by a shorter road, she heard voices in the field beyond; the speakers were hidden by a hedge, but she recognized the tones as Jim’s and his playfellow’s across the street.