Part 60 (1/2)
”Thee has indeed, and thee deserves it sure enough.”
I looked around at her, but could not catch her eyes. My efforts to emulate Mr. Yocomb's spirit were superhuman, but my success was indifferent. I was too anxious, too doubtful concerning the girl who was so gentle and yet so strong. She had far more quietude and self-mastery than I, and with good reason, for she was mistress of the situation. Still, I gathered hope every hour, for I felt that her face would not be so happy, so full of brightness, if she proposed to send me away disappointed, or even put me off on further probation.
Nevertheless, my Thanksgiving Day would not truly begin until my hope was confirmed.
Dinner was smoking on the table when we returned, and it was so exceedingly tempting that I enjoyed its aroma with much of Mr. Yocomb's satisfaction, and I sat down at his right, feeling that if one question were settled I would be the most thankful man in the land.
We bowed our heads in grace; but after a moment Mr. Yocomb arose, and with uplifted face repeated words that might have been written for the occasion, so wonderfully adapted to human life is the Book of G.o.d.
”'Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy name.
”'Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: ”'Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases;
”'Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies.
”'Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.'”
Never was there a grace so full of grace before. If a kind earthly father looks with joy on his happy children, so surely the divine Father must have smiled upon us. In the depths of my heart I respected a faith that was so simple, genuine, and full of suns.h.i.+ne. Truly, it had come from heaven, and not from the dyspeptic creeds of cloistered theologians.
”Father,” cried Zillah, ”thee looked like my picture of King David.”
”Well, I'm in a royal mood,” replied her father, ”and I don't believe King David ever had half so good a dinner as mother has provided. Such a dinner, Richard, is the result of genius. All the cookbooks in the world couldn't account for it, and I don't believe mother has read one of them.”
”Thee must give Cynthia part of the credit,” protested his wife.
”She's the woman who says 'Lord a ma.s.sy,' and insists that I was struck with lightning, isn't she?” and I glanced toward Miss Warren, but she wouldn't meet my eye. Her deepening color told of a busy memory, however. Mr. Yocomb began to laugh so heartily that he dropped his knife and fork on the table and leaned back in his chair quite overcome.
”Father, behave thyself,” his wife remonstrated.
At last the old gentleman set to work in good earnest. ”Emily,” he said, ”this is that innocent young gobbler that thee so commiserated.
Thee hasn't the heart to eat him, surely.”
”I'll take a piece of the breast, if you please.”
”Wouldn't thee like his heart?”
”No, I thank you.”
”What part would thee like, Richard?”
”Anything but his wings and legs. They would remind me how soon I must go back to awful New York.”
”Not before Second Day.”
”Yes, sir, to-morrow morning. An editor's play-spells are few and far between.”
”Well, Richard, thee thrives on work,” said Mrs. Yocomb.
”Yes. I've found it good for me.”