thar--kem ter nuss Elmiry through that spell she hed o' the scarlet
fever. An' arterward she says ter me: 'Ye do manage s'prisin', Justus;
an' I be goin' ter save ye some gyardin seed out'n my patch this year,
an' ef ye'll plough my patch I'll loan ye my horse-critter ter plough
your'n. An' the gals kin kem an' l'arn ter sew an' churn, an' sech,
long o' 'Dosia.' An' how they loved ye, 'Dosia--special Elmiry!"

His eyes filled with sudden tears. They did not fall; they were
absorbed somehow as he resumed:--

"Sech a superflu'ty o' frien's nowadays! Ef 't warn't they'd count fur
all they're wuth in the ballot-box, I'd hev no use fur 'em. I kin
sca'cely 'member thar names. But then I hed jes' _one_--jes' _one_ in
all the worl'--yer mother! Bless her soul!" he concluded
enthusiastically.

He was still and reflective for a moment. Then he made a motion as
though he would take one of Theodosia's hands. But she clasped both of
them demurely behind her.

"I don't hold hands with no man ez blesses another 'oman's soul by the
hour," she said, with an affectation of primness.

There may have been something more serious in her playful rebuff, but
in the serenity of his perfect security he did not feel it or gauge
its depth.

A glimpse of her mother at the window added its suggestion--a lean,
sallow, lined face, full of anxious furrows, with a rim of scanty
gray-streaked hair about the brow, with spectacles perched above, and
beneath the flabby jaw a scraggy, wrinkled neck.

"An' she's so powerful pretty!" Theodosia exclaimed, with an
irreverent burst of laughter, "I don't wonder ye feel obligated ter
bless her soul."

"She 'pears plumb beautiful to my mind," he said unequivocally,--"all
of a piece with her beautiful life."

Theodosia was suddenly grave, angered into a secret, sullen
irritation. These were words she loved for herself: it was but lately
she had learned so to prize them. Her eyes were as bright as a deer's!
Had not some one protested this, with a good round rural oath as
attestation? Her hair on the back of her head, and its shape to the
nape of her neck, were so beautiful--she had never seen it: how could
she say it wasn't? Her chin and her throat--well, if people could
think snow was a prettier white, he wouldn't give much for _their_
head-stuffin'. And her blush! her blush! It was her own fault. He
would not have taken another kiss if she had not blushed so at the
first that he must needs again see he