Beyond that “I’m kind o’ stuck on you,” it seemed he would never get, and at last, growing desperate, one night I determined to use a little strategy and screw his courage to the sticking point. So when he came, and discoursed a short time on the weather, the brightness of the moon, our sick neighbors and such like, I knew my time was near, and awaited nervously for the never-failing sentence, “I’m kind o’ stuck on you,” when I expected to say, “Oh, Charles, this is so sudden. I only thought you liked me as a friend.” This I felt sure would do the work.
At last, clearing his throat, Charles made ready. Looking lovingly at me, he said, “May, I’m kind o’ stuck on you,” and before the blush had fairly mantled my cheeks, aye, before I had a chance to utter a sound, the mean thing went on, “Oh, May, I forgot to tell you, we have a new colt.”
Never in my life did I feel more like strangling a man than I did that night. I had to turn aside to hide my tears of disappointment, for you must know that I really loved the dear fellow. He was not the least bit bashful with men, or even in the presence of old women. But when it came to girls, his conversation above speaks volumes.
One Sunday Charley had asked me if I would allow him to drive me home from church the following Sabbath. I was only too willing to say yes, hoping that something would happen to make him utter the much-desired words. Oh, girls, you can better imagine my disappointment than I can describe it, when late Saturday afternoon my mother’s maiden sister arrived, bag and baggage. I did not need to be told that I should be left at home next morning, as the carriage would not accommodate all.
I could not eat any supper and later brother Tom found me lying in my favorite nook in the summer house, sobbing as though my heart would break.
Little by little he coaxed me into telling him the reason for my grief, and at last I told him of my promise to Charley.
He sat and thought for a long time, and then breaking out into a happy laugh, he cried: “I have it, little Sis. When the others are gone, I’ll saddle old Bob, and you can ride behind me until we get near the church, when we can get down and tie Bob in the woods and walk the rest of the way.”
I felt many misgivings, I can tell you, about riding that mule, but as this was the only chance of getting to church, I reluctantly assented. Accordingly, when the carriage drove down the driveway the next morning, I flew to my room to dress, while Tom went out to saddle Bob. We were soon ready, and with Tom’s assistance I mounted behind him. The first two miles were soon covered, and feeling uncomfortable from the jolting I was getting, I begged Tom to get off and walk the rest of the way.
All at once Tom uttered a yell like a Comanche Indian, and never in the history of the world did a mule make better time than Bob did, getting nearer and nearer to church at each leap.
How I begged Tom to stop him and let me get off. But never a whit did Bob slacken his speed, and I thought I would faint with horror as the church appeared through the woods.