“I don’t want any assurances niece—what need has a man of assurances when he sees with his own eyes, especially if he has as much reason for confidence in his visual organs as I have in mine,” smilingly retorted uncle Theodore. “Don’t I catch him here most provokingly often? and is there not such a commerce in books between you, as would justify the suspicion that I have not a library of five thousand volumes, of all sorts of books, in all sorts of languages, both living and dead, besides shares in I know not how many circulating libraries”—
“But uncle,” I interposed, “you must remember that Mr. Greydon is the minister, and he comes to make cousin Sara pastoral calls, and to impart spiritual counsel—” I left my apology unfinished, for I was obliged to stop and laugh at its mis-placed sanctimony.
“Yes, yes, yes, miss!” replied uncle The., fairly driven into one of his merriest laughs—“and by all means his ‘spiritual’ what-did-you-call-it, must be communicated in German—no medium but German now—a little while ago nothing but French—by and by it will be hocus-pocus, or some other such gibberish!”
“Dear uncle,” interrupted poor blushing Sara, “I’m studying German, and Mr. Greydon is so kind as to give me two lessons a week, out of his very valuable time.”
“Fol-de-rol, every word of it—if you wanted a German teacher, why didn’t I ever hear of it, so I could have procured a genuine imported one. But suppose he does come twice a week to give you a lesson, he comes the other twice to—what, Sara? Help get it?” And Sara, finding herself circumvented on that track, blushed redder, and uncle Waldron laughed merrier than ever.
My other apology for the frequency of Mr. Greydon’s visits, was so nearly a failure, I concluded this time, silence was the “better part of valor,” so I left cousin Sara, to her own extrications from the cross-examinations of a wily old lawyer. As soon as she could make herself heard above uncle’s successive peals of merriment, she said, rather imploringly—
“Why, uncle Waldron, don’t make so much sport of me. You know I am so much alone—I am sure I think Mr. Greydon is very kind.”
“Yes, yes, niece—very kind, indeed—I see. ‘Alone so much,’ did you say? How comes that, pray? Isn’t here Maria, and isn’t she company enough? You pay my guest but a wretched compliment, putting her society down as nothing.”
“O no, no, uncle,” said Sara, “I don’t mean that—indeed you are too wicked to-night. Maria knows how truly I value her society. But she is here only very little—didn’t I stay all winter alone, when you kept promising me a cousin or friend to stay with me?”
“Well, well, uncle,” said I, “there is one thing for your assurance—cousin Sara has repeatedly declared she would not marry a clergyman!”