"Well, I want to know!" she said, aloud, her hand raised to shield her eyes. "Any one who says his view is better than mine must be just about daft. Land sakes! I'd just about die if I didn't get that sweep of the Merrimac and those mountings beyond!" And then, satisfied, she returned to her weeding.
Miss Betsey's house—in which she had been born, and her father also—stood on the side of a hill. Behind was a steep pasture, full of rocks and stubby bushes. In front, on the other side of the road, the ground sloped abruptly to the village. Even the old white meeting-house, built on a hill though it was, stood lower than the Trinkett farm. Beyond the village flowed the beautiful Merrimac. A broad stretch of meadow-land and cultivated fields rested the eye with their peaceful greens, and far away was the dim outline of the hills.
"Silas don't get a touch of the river," continued Miss Betsey; "and as for the medders, they're nowhere to be seen. He thinks because he can see the Common and the Soldiers' Monument his view's better than mine! He expects me to give up the Merrimac for the Soldiers' Monument! Sakes alive!"
She worked steadily for some time, until the click of the gate attracted her attention.
"I WANT TO KNOW!" SHE EXCLAIMED, DRAWING OFF HER OLD GLOVES.
"I want to know!" she exclaimed, laying down her tools and drawing off her old gloves; "if here ain't Nephew John and Jackie and that naughty Cynthy. Well, well! And this must be the bride." And she hurried down the path to meet them.
Cynthia came shyly forward after the introduction of her step-mother and the greetings were over. All the way in the train she had been meditating what she should say. With Jack's help she had composed a little speech. His help had consisted in acting as audience, for Cynthia was seldom at a loss for words. But when the time came the speech deserted her, and all she could think of doing was to put her arms around Aunt Betsey's neck, and, looking into the depths of the big sun-bonnet, say, softly:
"Aunt Betsey, I'm so sorry! Will you forgive me?"
"Forgive you, child!" exclaimed the old lady, her resentment melting at sight of her favorite niece. "I want to know! Did you suppose I'd remembered to be angry all this time? La, Cynthy, when you're as old as I am you'll have learned to take a little joke. And don't you suppose I'm real pleased to have you look so much like me? If Mrs. Parker couldn't tell us apart there must be some resemblance."