[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]Dorcas first, and sprang up. His eyes were so bright and forceful in the momentary gleam of meeting hers, that she looked aside, and
tried to rule her quickening breath.
Meadow Grass 71/90
Meadow Grass
"Miss Dorcas," said he, "I'm telling this young lady she mustn't forget to eat her dinner at school. I find she quite ignores it, if she has
sums to do, or blots to erase. Why, it's shocking."
"Of course she must eat her dinner!" said Dorcas, tenderly. "Why, yes, of course! Phoebe, do as he tells you. He knows."
Phoebe blushed vividly.
"Does he?" she answered, laughing. "Well, I'll see. Good-by, Miss Dorcas. I'll come in for Friday night meeting, if I don't before.
Good-by."
"I'll walk along with you," said the doctor. "If you'll let me," he added, humbly.
Phoebe turned away with a little toss of her head, and he turned, too, breaking a sprig of southernwood. Dorcas was glad to treasure
the last sight of him putting to his lips the fragrant herb she had bruised for his sake. It seemed to carry over into daylight the joy of the
richer night; it was like seeing the silken thread on which her pearls were strung. She called to them impetuously,--
"Pick all the flowers you want to, both of you!" Then she went in, but she said aloud to herself, "They're all for you--" and she
whispered his name.
"Dorcas," said her father, "the doctor's been here quite a spell. He says there was a real full meetin.' Even Nancy Pete, Dorcas! I feel as
if my ministration had been abundantly blessed."
Then, in that strangest summer in Dorcas's life, time seemed to stand still. The happiest of all experiences had befallen her; not a
succession of joys, but a permanent delight in one unchanging mood. The evening of his coming had been the first day; and the
evening and the morning had ever since been the same in glory. He came often, sometimes with Phoebe, sometimes alone; and, being
one of the men on whom women especially lean, Dorcas soon found herself telling him all the poor trials of her colorless life. Nothing
was too small for his notice. He liked her homely talk of the garden and the church, and once gave up an hour to spading a plot where
she wanted a new round bed. Dorcas had meant to put lilies there, but she remembered he loved ladies'-delights; so she gathered them
all together from the nooks and corners of the garden, and set them there, a sweet, old-fashioned company. "That's for thoughts!" She
took to wearing flowers now, not for the delight of him who loved them, but merely as a part of her secret litany of worship. She slept
deeply at night, and woke with calm content, to speak one name in the way that forms a prayer. He was her one possession; all else
might be taken away from her, but the feeling inhabiting her heart must live, like the heart itself.
By the time September had yellowed all the fields, there came a week when Phoebe's aunt, down at the Hollow, was known to be very
ill; so Phoebe no longer came to care for the parson through the Sunday-school hour. But the doctor appeared, instead.
"I'm Phoebe," he said, laughing, when Dorcas met him at the door. "She can't come; so I told her I'd take her place."
These were the little familiar deeds which gilded his name among the people. Dorcas had been growing used to them. But on the' next
Sunday morning, when she was hurrying about her kitchen, making early preparations for the cold mid-day meal, a daring thought
assailed her. Phoebe might come to-day, and if the doctor also dropped in, she would ask them both to dinner. There was no reason for
inviting him alone; besides, it was happier to sit by, leaving him to some one else. Then the two would talk, and she, with no
responsibility, could listen and look, and hug her secret joy.
"I ain't a-goin' to meetin' to-day!" came Nance Pete's voice from the door. She stood there, smoking prosperously, and took out her
pipe, with a jaunty motion, at the words. "I stopped at Kelup Rivers', on the way over, an' they gi'n me a good breakfast, an' last week,
that young doctor gi'n me a whole paper o' fine-cut. I ain't a-goin' to meetin'! I'm goin' to se' down under the old elm, an' have a real
good smoke."
"O Nancy!" Dorcas had no dreams so happy that such an avalanche could not sweep them aside. "Now, do! Why, you don't want me to
think you go to church just because I save you some breakfast!"
Nance turned away, and put up her chin to watch a wreath of smoke.
"I dunno why I don't," said she. "The world's nothin' but buy an' sell. You know it, an' I know it!' 'Tain't no use coverin' on't up. You
heerd the news? That old fool of a Sim Barker's dead. The doctor, sut up all night with him, an' I guess now he's layin' on him out. I
wouldn't ha' done it! I'd ha' wropped him up in his old coat, an' glad to git rid on him! Well, he won't cheat ye out o' no more five-cent
pieces, to squander in terbacker. You might save 'em up for me, now he's done for!" Nance went stalking away to the gate, flaunting a
visible air of fine, free enjoyment, the product of tobacco and a bright morning. Dorcas watched her, annoyed, and yet quite helpless;
Meadow Grass 72/90
Meadow Grass
she was outwitted, and she knew it. Perhaps she sorrowed less deeply over the loss to her pensioner's immortal soul, thus taking
holiday from spiritual discipline, than the serious problem involved in subtracting one from the congregation. Would a Sunday-school
picnic constitute a bribe worth mentioning? Perhaps not, so far as Nance was concerned; but her own class might like it, and on that
young blood she depended, to vivify the church.
A bit of pink came flashing along the country road. It was Phoebe, walking very fast.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plkajaszek.htw.pl
