“But, shucks! the critter knowed my voice ez well ez my eyes. He jes snatched both my hands, an’ ef he said ‘Editha! Editha! Editha!’ once, he said it a dozen times, like he would bu’st out crying an’ sheddin’ tears in two minutes. He don’t call my name like you do, Benjie, short-like, ‘’Ditha.’ He says it ‘Eeditha,’ drawn out, saaft, an’ sweet. Oh, lawsy! I plumb felt like a fool or a gal seventeen year’ old—same thing. Fer it hed jes kem ter me who he war, but I purtended ter hev knowed him all along. The conceits of the town ways of Shaftesvul hev made me plumb tricky an’ deceitful; I tell ye now, Benjie.” She gave a jocose little nudge of her elbow into his thin, old ribs, and so strangely forlorn had Benjie begun to feel that he was grateful even for this equivocal attention.
“Then ‘Roy Tresmon’ say—Now, Benjie, I dunno whether ye will think I done the perlite thing, fer I didn’t rightly know what ter do myself—he say, ‘Editha, fer old sake’s sake choose su’thin’ fer a gift o’ remembrance outen my stock.’
“I never seen no cattle, so I s’posed he war talkin’ sorter townified about his goods in the store. But I jes laffed an’ say, ‘My husband is a man with a free hand, though not a very fat purse, an’ I prefer ter spen’ a few dollars with ye, ez I expected ter do when I drifted in hyar a stranger.’ Ye notice them lies, Benjie. I reckon I kin explain them somehow at the las’ day, but they served my turn ez faithful ez the truth yestiddy. I say, ‘Ye kin take one penny out of the change an’ put a hole through it fer remembrance, an’ let old sake’s sake go at that.’” Once more her caroling, girlish laughter echoed along the lonely road.
“Though I really hedn’t expected ter spen’ a cent, I bought me some thread an’ buttons, an’ some checked gingham fer aperns, an’ a leetle woolen shoulder-shawl, an’ paid fer them, meanin’ of course ter tote ’em along with me under my arm; but ’Roy gin the clerk a look, an’ that spry limber-jack whisked them all away, an’ remarked, ‘The goods will be sent up immejetly ter Mrs. Jarney’s, whar ye say ye be stoppin’.’ An’, Benjie, whenst Cousin Sophy Jarney an’ me opened that parcel las’ night, what d’ ye s’pose we f’und?” She gave Benjie a clutch on the wrist of the hand that held the reins; and feeling them tighten, old Whitey mended her pace.
“Ye oughter been more keerful than ter hev lef’ the things at the store arter payin’ cash money fer ’em,” rejoined Benjie, sagely, not that he was suspicious of temperament, but unsophisticated of training.
“Shucks!” cried Editha, with a rallying laugh. “All them common things that I bought war thar, an’ more besides, wuth trible the money, Benjie. A fancy comb fer the hair—looks some similar ter a crown, though jet-black an’ shiny—an’ a necklace o’ beads ter match. O Benjie!” she gave his hand an ecstatic pressure. “I’ll show ’em ter ye when we gits home—every one. They air in my kyarpet-bag thar in the back of the wagon. An’ thar war besides a leetle lace cape with leetle black jet beads winkin’ at ye all over it, an’ a pair o’ silk gloves, not like mittens, but with separate fingers. Cousin Sophy Jarney she jes squealed. She say, ‘I wish I hed a beau like that!’ Ned Jarney, standin’ by, watchin’ me open the parcel, he say, ‘Ladies hev ter be ez beautisome ez Cousin Editha ter hev beaus at command at her time of life.’ Oh, my! Oh, my! Cousin Sophy she say, ‘Cousin Editha is yit, ez she always war, a tremenjious flirt. I think I’ll try ter practise a leetle bit ter git my hand in, ef ever I should hev occasion ter try.’ Oh, my! I’ll never furgit this visit ter Shaftesvul, the beauty-spot of the nation.”
Editha’s admired eyes, alight with all the fervors of retrospection, were fixed unseeing upon the majestic range of mountains, now turning from blue to amethyst with a cast of the westering sun. The fences had failed along the roadside, and for miles it had run between shadowy stretches of forest that, save for now and again a break of fields or pasture-lands, cut off the alluring view. A lovely stream had given the wayfarers its company, flowing beside the highway, clear as crystal, and when once more it expanded into shallows the road ran down to the margin to essay a ford. Here, as old Whitey paused to drink from the lustrous depths, the reflection of the deep-green, overhanging boughs, the beetling, gray rocks, and the blue sky painted a picture on the surface too refreshingly vivid and sweet for the senses to discriminate at once all its keen sources of joy.
Drawn by George Wright. Half-tone plate engraved by R. Varley.
“‘AN’ WILL YE TELL ME WHAT’S THE REASON I COULDN’T HEV
HED RICHES—OLD TOM FOOL!’“