Part 2 (1/2)

”Yes, dear,” whispered Cordelia, her mouth ever so close to his ear.

”Your future wife--and the mother of your future children--”

”Nonsense, nonsense--” muttered Josiah, breaking away quite fl.u.s.tered.

”I'm--I'm too old--”

Almost speaking in concert they told him about Captain Abner Spencer who had children until he was sixty, and Ezra Babc.o.c.k, father-in-law of the third Josiah Spencer, who had a son proudly born to him in his sixty-fourth year.

”And she's such a lovely girl,” said Cordelia earnestly. ”Patty and I are quite in love with her ourselves--”

”And think what it would mean to your peace of mind to have another son--”

”And what it would mean to Spencer & Son--!”

Josiah groaned at that. As a matter of fact he hadn't a chance to escape.

His two sisters had never allowed themselves to be courted, but they must have had their private ideas of how such affairs should be conducted, for they took Josiah in hand and put him through his paces with a speed which can only be described as breathless.

Flowers, candy, books, jewellery, a ring, the ring--the two maiden sisters lived a winter of such romance that they nearly bloomed into youth again themselves; and whenever Josiah had the least misgiving about a man of fifty-two marrying a girl of twenty-six, they whispered to him: ”Think what it will mean to Spencer & Son--” And whenever Martha showed the least misgivings they whispered to her: ”That's only his way, my dear; you mustn't mind that.” And once Cordelia added (while Patty nodded her head): ”Of course, there has to be a man at a wedding, but I want you to feel that you would be marrying us, as much as you would be marrying Josiah. You would be his wife, of course, but you would be our little sister, too; and Patty and I would make you just as happy as we could--”

Later they were glad they had told her this.

It was a quiet wedding and for a time nothing happened; although if you could have seen the two maiden sisters at church on a Sunday morning, you would have noticed that after the benediction they seemed to be praying very earnestly indeed--even as Sarah prayed in the temple so many years ago. There was this curious difference, however: Sarah had prayed for herself, but these two innocent spinsters were praying for another.

Then one morning, never to be forgotten, Martha thought to herself at the breakfast table, ”I'll tell them as soon as breakfast is over.”

But she didn't.

She thought, ”I'll take them into the garden and tell them there--”

But though she took them into the garden, somehow she couldn't tell them there.

”As soon as we get back into the house,” she said, ”I'll tell them.”

Even then the words didn't come, and Martha sat looking out of the window so quietly and yet with such a look of mingled fear and pride and exaltation on her face, that Cordelia suddenly seemed to divine it.

”Oh, Martha,” she cried. ”Do you--do you--do you really think--”

Miss Patty looked up, too--stricken breathless all in a moment--and quicker than I can tell it, the three of them had their arms around each other, and tears and smiles and kisses were blended--quite in the immemorial manner.

CHAPTER III

”We must start sewing,” said Miss Cordelia.

So they started sewing, Martha and the two maiden sisters, every st.i.tch a hope, every seam the dream of a young life's journey.

”We must think beautiful thoughts,” spoke up Miss Patty another day.

So while they sewed, sometimes one and sometimes another read poetry, and sometimes they read the Psalms, especially the Twenty-third, and sometimes Martha played the Melody in F, or the Shower of Stars or the Cinquieme Nocturne.