It was after the supper was done, when the visitor’s horse stood at the door, that Uncle Dick took a sudden resolve.
“Alviry,” he ordered, “you-all come hold this-hyar hoss, a leetle minute, whilst me an’ ’im has a confab.”
He led the puzzled veteran to a bench beneath a locust, out of earshot of his granddaughters, who regarded the proceeding curiously, and not without apprehension since they knew the violent temper of the old man when thwarted. They were relieved to perceive that his demeanor remained altogether peaceable.
“Hit’s jest this-away, Seth Jones,” Uncle Dick began at once, after the two were seated side by side on the bench. “Ye see, I knew you-all, an’ yer name an’ yer business, soon’s I sot eyes on ye. Hit were thet-thar danglin’ sleeve o’ your’n as ye rid up the path what done hit. I knowed then as how my fate was sealed, s’ fur’s the Widder Brown’s consarned. Fanny done told me about you-all an’ yer disapp’intment. She allers said, arter her man died, as how ye’d be a-comin’ ’long, though I was hopin’ ye wouldn’t—cuss ye! Excuse me—no offense intended. The widder an’ me has been clost friends, an’ I told her from the first as how I respected the 150 claims of this-hyar Jones galoot, if so be he turned up afore we got hitched. An’ now hyar ye be—dang hit!”
The veteran cleared his throat apologetically. His own happiness made him exaggerate the injury thus wrought by his reappearance. He ventured no remark, however. He could not say that the woman in the case was hardly worth troubling over, and, for the life of him, he could think of nothing else in the way of consolation. He discreetly cleared his throat a second time, and maintained a masterly silence. But the garrulous old man at his side needed no encouragement. He quickly resumed his discourse, with a certain unctuous enjoyment, distinctly inconsistent with his love-lorn pose.
“Seth Jones,” he announced solemnly, “if you-all an’ me was young ag’in, an’ fired by the passion o’ youth, thar wouldn’t be no love-feast hyar jest now like this un. No, sirree! Hit’d shore be war a-twixt we-uns—with hell a-poppin’ at the end on’t fer one, mebby both. But my blood don’t git het up now the way hit use’ to did. I’m thinkin’ fer the widder’s sake hit’s good ye’re younger ner me, an’ got more years to give ’er. So, Mr. Jones, when all’s said an’ done, I’m glad ye come to Guarding Creek.”
Then, Uncle Dick, in his turn, displayed some 151 slight symptoms of embarrassment, and cleared his throat in a manner to shock a drawing-room.
“An’ now I got jest one leetle favor to ax o’ ye, Seth Jones. You-all knows as how the gals in this-hyar kentry air partic’lar proud to have a weddin’ ring made from the gold washed out o’ the soil in Pleasant Valley by their sweetheart. Wall, I talked a heap ’bout hit to Fanny, an’, when she showed signs like she’d give in to me, I went an’ panned the gold fer the ring. Fanny’d be right-smart disapp’inted not to have a lover-made ring, I reckon. So, bein’ as you-all only got one arm, I wants ye to take this-hyar ring, an’ wed her proper with the blessin’ an’ best wishes o’ Uncle Dick Siddon.”
He offered the ring, which was gratefully accepted, and the two old men parted on excellent terms.