Part 24 (2/2)

For a time neither spoke, then Hezekiah Warden cleared his throat determinedly and faced his wife.

”Look a' here, Abby,” he began, ”I'm agoin' ter say somethin' that has been 'most tumblin' off'n the end of my tongue fer mor'n a year. Jennie an' Frank are good an' kind an' they mean well, but they think 'cause our hair's white an' our feet ain't quite so lively as they once was, that we're jest as good as buried already, an' that we don't need anythin' more excitin' than a nap in the sun. Now, Abby, _didn't_ ye want ter go ter that fair with the folks ter-day? Didn't ye?”

A swift flush came into the woman's cheek.

”Why, Hezekiah, it's ever so much cooler here, an'--” she paused helplessly.

”Humph!” retorted the man, ”I thought as much. It's always 'nice an'

cool' here in summer an' 'nice an' warm' here in winter when Jennie goes somewheres that you want ter go an' don't take ye. An' when 't ain't that, you say you 'hain't had time.' I know ye! You'd talk any way ter hide their selfishness. Look a' here, Abby, did ye ever ride in them 'lectric-cars? I mean anywheres?”

”Well, I hain't neither, an', by ginger, I'm agoin' to!”

”Oh, Hezekiah, Hezekiah, don't--swear!”

”I tell ye, Abby, I will swear. It's a swearin' matter. Ever since I heard of 'em I wanted ter try 'em. An' here they are now 'most ter my own door an' I hain't even been in 'em once. Look a' here, Abby, jest because we're 'most eighty ain't no sign we've lost int'rest in things.

I'm spry as a cricket, an' so be you, yet Frank an' Jennie expect us ter stay cooped up here as if we was old--really old, ninety or a hundred, ye know--an' 't ain't fair. Why, we _will_ be old one of these days!”

”I know it, Hezekiah.”

”We couldn't go much when we was younger,” he resumed. ”Even our weddin'

trip was chopped right off short 'fore it even begun.”

A tender light came into the dim old eyes opposite.

”I know, dear, an' what plans we had!” cried Abigail; ”Boston, an'

Bunker Hill, an' Faneuil Hall.”

The old man suddenly squared his shoulders and threw back his head.

”Abby, look a' here! Do ye remember that money I've been savin' off an'

on when I could git a dollar here an' there that was extra? Well, there's as much as ten of 'em now, an' I'm agoin' ter spend 'em--all of 'em mebbe. I'm _agoin'_ ter ride in them 'lectric-cars, an' so be you. An' I ain't goin' ter no old country fair, neither, an' no more be you. Look a' here, Abby, the folks are goin' again ter-morrer ter the fair, ain't they?”

Abigail nodded mutely. Her eyes were beginning to s.h.i.+ne.

”Well,” resumed Hezekiah, ”when they go we'll be settin' in the sun where they say we'd oughter be. But we ain't agoin' ter stay there, Abby. We're goin' down the road an' git on them 'lectric-cars, an' when we git ter the Junction we're agoin' ter take the steam cars fer Boston.

What if 'tis thirty miles! I calc'late we're equal to 'em. We'll have one good time, an' we won't come home until in the evenin'. We'll see Faneuil Hall an' Bunker Hill, an' you shall buy a new cap, an' ride in the subway. If there's a preachin' service we'll go ter that. They have 'em sometimes weekdays, ye know.”

”Oh, Hezekiah, we--couldn't!” gasped the little old woman.

”Pooh! 'Course we could. Listen!” And Hezekiah proceeded to unfold his plans more in detail.

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