When I looked under her bonnet I perceived a face that was more to my mind than any face I had ever before seen. Perhaps it was wrong for me to think so much about a face; but it was borne in upon me that such a well-favored countenance must of necessity come from a still more well-favored manner of life; for a face, to me, is only the reflex of the inner workings of Life, and to this day I doubt if I could sit down and describe fully the shape or moulding of any one particular feature of that face, for it was not the face, but the expression that formed it, that inclined me toward it. I was a stranger in the place, and but newly come, and my name had forerun me in kindly writings from many friends, so that I may often have been mentioned in households where I had never been seen. But I went to Barbara Hicks's father, and informed him how considerably my mind inclined me toward his daughter, and that I would, if he permitted me, ask to be better known unto her. "Thee is over young to think of marriage, friend Biddle," said he.
I felt a burning sensation mounting to my face, and I could only say in reply, "Verily. But the heart of youth is lonely—more so than the heart of age, and it looks upon all Nature for companionship."
"Thy mingling with the world's people has made thee glib of tongue," said he, eyeing me, and smiling as much as was seemly.
"But I am not of the world's people, if thee means the flaunters of various colors and loud-voiced nothings. And I do not think of marriage—nay, will not—until thy daughter has taken me into full acquaintanceship and approbation. Thee knows I am not advanced in the world's wealth, and that I am but a beginner in manhood; thee knows that I came here and set up as a lumberman; thee may or may not care to have thy daughter to know me."
"I care as much as beseems any father to bethink him of his child's welfare. Come with me, Samuel Biddle."
So he fetched me into the sizable sunny kitchen where Barbara was preparing vegetables for the dinner.
"This is friend Samuel Biddle," said he.
"I am pleased to see thee," said she, "and if thee waits until I dry my fingers I will shake hands with thee."
Youth is ever impetuous. In my haste or foolish confusion I took her hand as it was, and had the mortified pride of seeing a long potato-paring hanging about my thumb when she had resumed her occupation.
"Thee is overly quick," said her father, rather displeased, I thought.