Part 9 (2/2)

The little man pulled the cap from his head, revealing a crown as bald as a baby's, and bowed himself up and down with the fervor of an Oriental. ”Lucia Saxon? What, her that married the doctor and went out West? Why, sartin, sartin. She was one of the nicest gals I ever see, and the prettiest spoken. I-I guess your mother must 'av' told you about me,” he added eagerly. ”I took her home from spellin' school once. She had spelled down everybody but me; but I was older'n she was, you know, a good deal older.” The delight of the remembrance seemed to overcome him, and he hopped first on one foot, then on the other, like an excited child.

Ruel Saxon's face worked curiously while this performance lasted. ”I don't see but what your garden truck is getting on all right,” he said in the dryest of tones, ”and I guess the girls 'n' I'd better be going.”

He turned, making his way past the others, regardless of the fact that his footprints were left in the onion-bed which bordered the walk, and headed the line again toward the house.

”I shall write to mother that we have seen you,” said Esther, smiling back at the little man, who still stood bowing with his cap in his hands, and Kate gave him a friendly nod, though her mouth was twitching with amus.e.m.e.nt.

Aunt Katharine said good-by to them at the front door. ”If you ever feel like seeing the old woman again, come down,” she said to the girls.

”'Tain't so very far across the fields, and you can follow the cow-path.” Then, without waiting to see them go, she closed the door.

”Grandfather,” Kate burst out when they were fairly off, ”who in the world is that man, and how does he come to be at Aunt Katharine's?”

”That man,” he repeated, deepening his tone with an accent of disgust, ”is a poor half-witted cretur that belongs at the poorhouse. He stays there most of the time, but now 'n' then he gets a restless spell and they let him out. Then he always comes round to your Aunt Katharine's, and she takes him in.”

”Well, he's the queerest acting man I ever came across,” said Kate, ”and how he was dressed out, with his fine flowered vest and his jewellery!”

”'Jewellery!'” grunted her grandfather. ”He didn't have on any compared with what he has sometimes. Why, when he really dresses up, that cretur covers himself all over with it.”

The girls looked so astonished that he apparently felt it inc.u.mbent on him to attempt some explanation of the man. ”The fact is,” he said, ”Solomon Ridgeway is as crazy as a loon on one p'int. He thinks he's rich, though for aught I know he's got as much sense about other things as he ever had. He thinks he's terrible rich, and that the best way to keep his property, as he calls it, is in gold and jewels. He's got a trunkful of it-wo'thless stuff, of course-that he carries with him everywhere. I s'pose it's stowed away somewhere at your Aunt Katharine's now.”

Kate really seemed past speaking for a moment, and Esther exclaimed in a tone of utter bewilderment, ”Well, I should have thought Aunt Katharine was the last person in the world who would want such a man at her house.

What makes her do it?”

”The Lord only knows,” said the old gentleman solemnly. And then he jerked the reins and urged Dobbin on his way in a tone of uncommon asperity.

The fact was, the question had a special irritation for him. That his sister, who flouted wise men and scorned the opinions of those having authority, should bear with the vagaries of a being like Solomon Ridgeway was a thing that pa.s.sed his understanding. With the man himself he _might_ have had some patience, though his form of mania was peculiarly exasperating to his own hard common sense, and somehow he could not help resenting it that ”Solomon,” of all names, should have lighted on so foolish a creature; but that, such as he was, he should be the object of Katharine Saxon's pointed and continuous favor was trying beyond measure to her brother. He lapsed into a silence quite unusual with him, and the girls did not disturb it again on the way home.

They were longing to talk the visit over with Stella, but she was away when they reached the house, and Aunt Elsie asked no questions beyond an inquiry for Aunt Katharine's health. It was at supper that the subject found its way into the family talk, and then Stella, who had just come in, opened it.

”Well, I hope you enjoyed your call on Aunt Katharine,” she said, smiling at her cousins.

”Of course we did,” said Kate, promptly. ”You didn't begin to tell us how interesting she is.”

”Oh, but you should have been there on a day when she and grandfather discussed things,” said Stella. ”That's the time when she really shows her quality.” She sent a demure glance at the old gentleman as she spoke. How she had become possessed of his intention to refrain from controversy is not certain, but somehow she had it.

He glanced with obvious embarra.s.sment at his granddaughters. Then he set down his cup of tea, and faced his daughter-in-law. ”Elsie,” he said, in a tone whose humility was really touching, ”I meant to stand by what I said to you. I certainly did; but I couldn't do it.” He cleared his throat and his tone grew firmer. ”I couldn't do it, and I don't know as I shall be held responsible for it, either. The Bible says, 'As much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men,'-and I s'pose that means women too,-but it don't lie in me, and it never will, to keep my mouth shut while folks are advancing such notions as Katharine did this afternoon. I did contend with her; I certainly did.”

The Northmore girls could not keep straight faces, and Stella broke into a delighted giggle. ”I'm sure 'twas your duty, grandpa, and I'm glad you did it,” she said. ”What was it this time; woman's rights, or the folly of getting married, or what?”

She glanced at her cousins as she asked the question, and Esther spoke first. ”It was education partly, and the question whether women ought not to be as free as men to choose what they shall do. I must say that for my part I thought Aunt Katharine made some real good points, though of course she needn't have been quite so bitter.”

”It was my speaking about Abner Sickles that stirred her up to begin with,” said the old gentleman, still addressing himself in half-apologetic tone to Aunt Elsie. ”That put her in mind of his sister Abigail, and how she worked herself to death helping him through college.”

”I shouldn't wonder if helping Abner was the greatest comfort the poor girl had,” observed Aunt Elsie.

The unemphatic way in which she sometimes made important suggestions was one of Aunt Elsie's peculiarities. No one spoke for a minute, and she turned the conversation away from Aunt Katharine by suddenly asking a question on a wholly different subject.

CHAPTER VI

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