Part 23 (1/2)

The Deacon came in to-night, so amused that he was on the broad grin when he presented himself, and chuckling even when he said good-evening.

”What pleases you?” I asked. ”You seem much amused about something.”

”I am,” he answered. ”I've been appointed your guardian.”

”By the town authorities?” I demanded. ”I should have thought I was old enough to look after myself.”

”It's your family,” he chuckled. ”Miss Privet has written to me from Boston.”

”Cousin Mehitable?” I exclaimed.

”Miss Mehitable Privet,” he returned.

”She has written to you about me?” asked I.

He nodded, in evident delight over the situation.

My astonishment got the better of my manners so that I forgot to ask him to sit down, but stood staring at him like a b.o.o.by. I remembered Cousin Mehitable had met him once or twice on her infrequent visits to Tuskamuck, and had been graciously pleased to approve of him,--largely, I believe, on account of some accidental discovery of his very satisfactory pedigree. That she should write to him, however, was most surprising, and argued an amount of feeling on her part much greater than I had appreciated. I knew she would be shocked and perhaps scandalized by my having baby, and she had written to me with sufficient emphasis, but I did not suppose she would invoke outside aid in her attempts to dispossess me of Thomasine.

”But why should she write to you?” I asked Deacon Daniel.

”She said,” was his answer, ”she didn't know who else to write to.”

”But what did she expect you to do?”

The Deacon chuckled and caressed his beardless chin with a characteristic gesture. When he is greatly amused he seizes himself by the chin as if he must keep his jaw stiff or an undeaconical laugh would come out in spite of him.

”I don't think she cared much what I did if I relieved you of that baby,” was his reply. ”She said if I was any sort of a guardian of the poor perhaps I could put it in a home.”

”But you are not,” I said.

”No,” he a.s.sented.

”And you shouldn't have her if you were,” I added.

”I don't want the child,” Deacon Daniel returned. ”I shouldn't know what to do with it.”

Then we both laughed, and I got him seated in Father's chair, and we had a long chat over the whole situation. I had not realized how much I wanted to talk matters over with somebody. Aunt Naomi is out of the question, because she is so fond of telling things; Miss Charlotte would be better, but she is not very worldly wise; and if I may tell the truth, I wanted to talk with a man. The advice of women is wise often, and yet more often it is comforting; but it has somehow not the conclusiveness of the decision of a sensible man. At least that is the way I felt to-night, though in many matters I should never think of trusting to a man's judgment.

”I think I shall adopt baby legally,” I said. ”Then n.o.body could take her away or bother me about her.”

He asked me if her father would agree, and I said that I was sure he would.

”It would make her your heir if you died without a will,” he commented.

I said that nothing was more easy than to make a will, and of course I should mean to provide for her.

”You are not afraid of wills, then?” Deacon Daniel observed, looking at me curiously. ”So many folks can't bear the idea of making one.”

”Very likely it's partly because I am a lawyer's daughter,” I said; ”but in any case making a will wouldn't have any more terrors for me than writing a check. But then I never had any fear of death anyway.”