Part 32 (1/2)

”An' there'll be the bow-winder out of the settin' room, Huldah!”

”Yes, and a real bathroom, with water coming right out of the wall, same as the Wileys have!”

”An' a tub, Huldah--one o' them pretty white chiny ones!”

”Oh, Cyrus, ain't it almost too good to be true!” sighed Huldah: then her face changed. ”Why, Cyrus, it's gone,” she cried with sudden sharpness.

”What's gone?”

”Your dinner--I was cooking such a beautiful turkey and all the fixings for you.”

A dull red came into the man's face.

”For--me?” stammered Cyrus.

”Y-yes,” faltered Huldah; then her chin came up defiantly.

The man laughed; and there was a boyish ring to his voice.

”Well, Huldah, I didn't have any turkey, but I did have a tidy little piece o' black silk for yer gown, an' I saved it, too. Mebbe we could eat that!--eh?”

It was not until just as they were falling asleep that night in Deacon Clark's spare bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. Gregg so much as hinted that there ever had been a quarrel.

Then, under cover of the dark, Cyrus stammered:

”Huldah, did ye sense it? Them 'ere words we said at the foot of the stairs was spoke--exactly--_together_!”

”Yes, I know, dear,” murmured Huldah, with a little break in her voice.

Then:

”Cyrus, ain't it wonderful--this Thanksgiving, for us?”

Downstairs the Clarks were talking of poor old Mr. and Mrs. Gregg and their ”sad loss;” but the Clarks did not--know.

A New England Idol

The Hapgood twins were born in the great square house that set back from the road just on the outskirts of Fairtown. Their baby eyes had opened upon a world of faded portraits and somber haircloth furniture, and their baby hands had eagerly clutched at crystal pendants on bra.s.s candlesticks gleaming out of the sacred darkness that enveloped the parlor mantel.

When older grown they had played dolls in the wonderful attic, and made mud pies in the wilderness of a back yard. The garden had been a fairyland of delight to their toddling feet, and the apple trees a fragrant shelter for their first attempts at housekeeping.

From babyhood to girlhood the charm of the old place grew upon them, so much so that the thought of leaving it for homes of their own became distasteful to them, and they looked with scant favor upon the occasional village youths who sauntered up the path presumably on courts.h.i.+p bent.

The Reverend John Hapgood--a man who ruled himself and all about him with the iron rod of a rigid old-school orthodoxy--died when the twins were twenty; and the frail little woman who, as his wife, had for thirty years lived and moved solely because he expected breath and motion of her, followed soon in his footsteps. And then the twins were left alone in the great square house on the hill.

Miss Tabitha and Miss Rachel were not the only children of the family.

There had been a son--the first born, and four years their senior. The headstrong boy and the iron rule had clashed, and the boy, when sixteen years old, had fled, leaving no trace behind him.