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At Sudleigh Fair
by
Rosa bent suddenly forward, and placed the package in Dilly’s lap. In spite of the bright daylight all about her, she was frightened; if a cloud had swept over, she must have screamed.
“I don’t know how you found it out,” she whispered, “but ’tis raisin-cake. Mother sent it. She knew I was going to ask you about the cows. She said I was to tell you, too, there’s some sickness over to Sudleigh, and she thought you could go over there nussing, if you wanted to.”
“I ‘ain’t got time,” said Dilly, placidly. “I give up nussin’, two year ago. I ‘ain’t got any time at all! Well, here they come, don’t they? One for me, an’ one for you!”
A light wagon, driven rapidly round the corner, drew up at the gate. Elvin Drew jumped down, and helped out his companion, a short, rather thickset girl, with smooth, dark hair, honest eyes, and a sensitive mouth. She came quickly up the path, after an embarrassed word of thanks to the young man.
“He took me in,” she began, almost apologetically to Rosa, who surveyed her with some haughtiness. “I was comin’ up here to see Dilly, an’ he offered me a ride.”
Rosa’s color and spirits had returned, at the sight of her tangible ally at the gate.
“Well, I guess I must be going,” she said, airily. “Elvin won’t want to wait. Good-by, Dilly! I’ll tell father. Good-by, Molly Drew!”
But Dilly followed her down to the road, where Elvin stood waiting with the reins in his hands. He was a very blond young man, with curly hair, and eyes honest in contour and clear of glance. Perhaps his coloring impressed one with the fact that he should have looked very young; but his face shrunk now behind a subtile veil of keen anxiety, of irritated emotion, which were evidently quite foreign to him. Even a stranger, looking at him, could hardly help suspecting an alien trouble grafted upon a healthy stem. He gave Dilly a pleasant little nod, in the act of turning eagerly to help Rosa into the wagon. But when he would have followed her, Dilly laid a light but imperative hand on his arm.
“Don’t you want your fortune told?” she asked, meaningly. “Here’s the witch all ready. Ain’t it well for me I wa’n’t born a hunderd year ago? Shouldn’t I ha’ sizzled well? An’ now, all there is to burn me is God A’mighty’s sunshine!”
Elvin laughed lightly.
“I guess I don’t need any fortune,” he said. “Mine looks pretty fair now. I don’t feel as if anybody’d better meddle with it.” But he had not withdrawn his arm, and his gaze still dwelt on hers.
“You know suthin’ you don’t mean to tell,” said Dilly, speaking so rapidly that although Rosa bent forward to listen, she caught only a word, here and there. “You think you won’t have to tell, but you will. God A’mighty’ll make you. You’ll be a stranger among your own folks, an’ a wanderer on the earth; till you tell. There! go along! Go an’ see the punkins an’ crazy-quilts!”
She withdrew her hand, and turned away. Elvin, his face suddenly blanched, looked after her, fascinated, while she went quickly up the garden walk. An impatient word from Rosa recalled him to himself, and he got heavily into the wagon and drove on again.
When Dilly reached the steps where her new guest had seated herself, her manner had quite changed. It breathed an open frankness, a sweet and homely warmth which were very engaging. Molly spoke first.
“How pleased he is with her!” she said, dreamily.
“Yes,” answered Dilly, “but to-day ain’t tomorrer. They’re both light-complected. It’s jest like patchwork. Put light an’ dark together, I say, or you won’t git no figger. Here, le’s have a mite o’ cake! Mis’ Tolman’s a proper good cook, if her childern have all turned out ducks, an’ took to the water. Every one on ’em’s took back as much as three generations for their noses an’ tempers. Strange they had to go so fur!”