Part 21 (1/2)
”I wonder,” she mused, ”if I ever quite understood David!”
Miss Rhody called to David as he was pa.s.sing her house and bade him come in.
”You've hed a hard trip,” she said, with a keen glance into his tired, boyish eyes.
”Very hard, Miss Rhody.”
”You have heard about Janey--and Joe?”
”Aunt M'ri just told me,” he said, wincing ever so slightly.
”They was all sot on your being her sweetheart, except me and her--and Joe.”
”Why not you, Miss Rhody?”
”You ain't never been in love with Janey--not the way you'll love some day. When I was sick last fall Almiry Green come over to read to me and she brung a book of poems. I never keered much for po'try, and Almiry, she didn't nuther, but she hed jest ketched Widower Pankey, and so she thought it was proper to be readin' po'try. She read somethin' about fust love bein' a primrose, and a-fallin' to make way fer the real rose, and I thought to myself: 'That's David. His feelin'
fer Janey is jest a primrose.'”
David's eyes were inscrutable, but she continued:
”I knowed she hed allers fancied Joe sence she was a little tot and he give her them beads. When Joe's name was spoke she was allers shy-like. She wuz never shy-like with you.”
”No,” admitted David wearily, ”but I must go on to the farm now, Miss Rhody. I will come in again soon.”
When he came into the sitting room of the farmhouse, where he found Joe and Janey, the rare smile that comes with the sweetness of renunciation was on his lips. After he had congratulated them, he asked for Barnabas.
”He just started for the woods,” said Joe. ”I think he is on his way to Uncle Larimy's.”
David hastened to overtake him, and soon caught sight of the bent figure walking slowly over the stubbled field.
”Uncle Barnabas!” he called.
Barnabas turned and waited.
”Did you see Janey and Joe?” he asked, looking keenly into the shadowed eyes.
”Yes; Aunt M'ri had told me.”
”When?”
”This morning. Joe's a man after your own heart, Uncle Barnabas.”
”It's you I wanted fer her,” said the old man bluntly. ”I never dreamt of its bein' enybody else. It's an orful disapp'intment to me, Dave.
I'd ruther see you her man than to see you what I told you long ago I meant fer you to be.”
”And I, too, Uncle Barnabas,” said David, with slow earnestness, ”would rather be your son than to be governor of this state!”
”You did care, then, David,” said the old man sadly. ”It don't seem to be much of a surprise to you.”