Part 13 (2/2)
”What advice did Old Plod give you?”
For some inexplicable reason she colored deeply, then laughed as she said:
”It's rarely wise to think aloud; but impulsive people will do it sometimes. I suppose we all occasionally have questions to decide that to us are perplexing and important, though of little consequence to the world. Come; if we are to see the old garden, we must make the most of the fading light. After my interview with Old Plod, I can't descend to cows and pigs; so good-by, Mr. Yocomb.”
CHAPTER X
A BIT OF EDEN
”This is my first entrance into Eden,” I said, as we pa.s.sed through the rustic gate made of cedar branches and between posts green with American ivy.
”Like another man, you won't stay here long.”
”Like Adam, I shall certainly go out when you do.”
”That will be before very long, since I have promised Mr. Yocomb some music.”
”Even though a Bohemian editor, as you may think, I am conscious of a profound grat.i.tude to some beneficent power, for I never could have chosen so wisely myself. I might have been in Sodom and Gomorrah--for New York in contrast seems a union of both--receiving reports of the crimes and casualties of the day, but I am here with this garden in the foreground and music in the background.”
”You don't know anything about the music, and you may yet wish it so far in the background as to be inaudible.”
”I admit that I will be in a dilemma when we reach the music, for no matter how much I protest, you will know just what I think.”
”Yes, you had better be honest.”
”Come, open for me the treasures of your ripe experience. You have been a week in the country. I know you will give me a rosebud--a rare old-fas.h.i.+oned one, if you please, with a quaint, sweet meaning, for I see that such abound in this garden, and I am wholly out of humor with the latest mode in everything. Recalling your taste for homely, honest worth, as shown by your pa.s.sion for Old Plod, I shall seek a blossom among the vegetables for you. Ah, here is one that is sweet, white, and pretty,” and I plucked a cl.u.s.ter of flowers from a potato-hill. ”By the way, what flower is this?” I asked demurely.
She looked at it blankly for a moment, then remarked, with a smile, ”You have said that it was sweet, white, and pretty. Why inquire further?”
”Miss Warren, you have been a week in the country and don't know a potato-blossom.”
”Our relations may be changed,” she said, ”and you become the teacher.”
”Oh, here comes Zillah. We will settle the question according to Scripture. Does it not say, 'A little child shall lead them'? Who are you so glad to see, little one, Miss Warren or me?”
”I don't know thee very well yet,” she said shyly.
”Do you know Miss Warren very well?”
”Oh, yes, indeed.”
”How soon did you come to know her well?”
”The first day when she kissed me.”
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