Part 4 (2/2)
Again she brought her eyes back to the portrait; and now she saw, not the characteristics which had always made it seem impossible for her and Samuel to jog together down life's road, but the great truth that the face was honest and wholesome, while the eyes looked back into hers with the promise of an unswerving care and affection.
The next morning found Blossy kneeling before a plump, little, leather-bound, time-worn trunk which she kept under the eaves of the kitchen chamber. The trunk was packed hard with bundles of old letters.
Some her younger fingers had tied with violet ribbon; some they had bound with pink; others she had fastened together with white silk cord; and there were more and more bundles, both slim and stout, which Blossy had distinguished by some special hue of ribbon in the long ago, each tint marking a different suitor's missives.
To her still sentimental eye the colors remained unfaded, and each would bring to her mind instantly the picture of the writer as he had been in the golden days. But save to Blossy's eye alone there were no longer any rainbow tints in the little, old trunk; for every ribbon and every cord had faded into that musty, yellow brown which is dyed by the pa.s.sing of many years.
Abraham discovered her there, too engrossed in the perusal of one of the old letters to have heeded his creaking steps upon the stairs.
”Didn't see yer, till I 'most stumbled on yer,” he began apologetically.
”I come fer the apple-picker. Thar's a handful of russets in the orchard yit, that's calc'latin' ter spend Christmas up close ter heaven; but--Say, Blossy,” he added more loudly, since she did not raise her head, ”yew seen anythin' o' that air picker?”
Blossy glanced up from her ragged-edged crackly _billet-doux_ with a start, and dropped the envelop to the floor.
For the moment, so deep in reminiscence was she, she thought Captain Darby himself had surprised her; then, recognizing Abe and recalling that Samuel's winter visits were invariably paid in the afternoon, she broke into a shamefaced laugh.
”Oh, is that you, Brother Abe? Don't tell the others what you found me doing. These,” with a wave of her delicate, blue-veined hands over the trunk and its contents, ”are all old love-letters of mine. Do you think I'm a silly old goose to keep them cluttering around so long?”
”Wa'al,”--Abe with an equally deprecatory gesture indicated Angy's horsehair trunk in the far corner of the loft,--”yew ain't no more foolisher, I guess, over yer old trash 'n me an' Angy be a-keepin' that air minin' stock of mine. One lot is wuth 'bout as much as t'other.”
Recovering the envelop that she had dropped, he squinted at the superscription. ”Not meanin' ter be inquisitive or personal, Sister Blossy,” a teasing twinkle appearing in his eye, ”but this looks dretful familitary, this here handwritin' does. When I run the beach--yew've heard me tell of the time I was on the Life-savin' Crew over ter Bleak Hill fer a spell--my cap'n he had a fist jest like that. Useter make out the spickest, spannest reports. Lemme see,” the twinkle deepening, ”didn't the gals say yew was a 'spectin' somebody ter-day? Law, I ain't saw Cap'n Sam'l fer ten year or more. I guess on these here poppin'
trips o' his'n he hain't wastin' time on no men-folks. But, Blossy, yew better give me a chance ter talk to him this arternoon, an' mebbe I'll speak a good word fer yer.”
Blossy, not always keen to see a joke, and with her vanity now in the ascendant, felt the color rise into her withered cheek.
”Oh, you needn't take the trouble to speak a good word for me. Any man who could ever write a letter like this doesn't need to be coaxed. Just listen:
”The man you take for a mate is the luckiest dog in the whole round world. I'd rather be him than king of all the countries on earth. I'd rather be him than strike a gold-mine reaching from here to China. I'd rather be him than master of the finest vessel that ever sailed blue water. That's what I would. Why, the man who couldn't be happy with you would spill tears all over heaven.”
Blossy's cheek was still flushed, but no longer with pique. Her voice quavered, and broke; and finally there fell upon the faded page of the letter two sparkling tears.
Abraham shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other; then, muttering something about the ”pesky apple-hook,” went scuffing across the floor in the direction of the chimney.
Blossy, however, called him back. ”I was crying, Brother Abe, because the man I did take for a mate once was not happy, and--and neither was I. I was utterly wretched; so that I've always felt I never cared to marry again. And--and Samuel's wig is always slipping down over one eye, and I simply cannot endure that trick he has of carrying his head to one side, as if he had a left-handed spell of the mumps. It nearly drives me frantic.
”Brother Abe, now tell me honestly: do you think he would make a good husband?”
Abe cleared his throat. Blossy was in earnest. Blossy could not be laughed at. She was his friend, and Angy's friend; and she had come to him as to a brother for advice. He too had known Samuel as man to man, which was more than any of the sisters could say.
Stroking his beard thoughtfully, therefore, he seated himself upon a convenient wooden chest, while Blossy slipped her old love-letter in and out of the envelop, with that essentially feminine manner of weighing and considering.
”Naow,” began Abe at length, ”this is somep'n that requires keerful debatin'. Fust off, haowsomever, yew must remember that wigs an' ways never made a man yit. Ez I riccollec' Sam'l, he was pooty good ez men go. I should say he wouldn't be any more of a risk tew yew than I was tew Angy; mebbe less. He's got quite a leetle laid by, I understand, an'
a tidy story-an'-a-half house, an' front stoop, an', by golly, can't he cook! He's a splendid housekeeper.”
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