FullReads

“Let her take her comfort,” said the kind-hearted man. “Them things draws her to the teacher, an’ makes them acquainted. Katy’s shy with new folks, more so’n Susan Ellen, who’s of the business kind. Katy’s shy-feelin’ and wishful. ”

“I don’t know but she is,” agreed the mother slowly. “Ain’t it sing’lar how well acquainted you be with that one, an’ I with Susan Ellen? ’Twas always so from the first. I’m doubtful sometimes our Katy ain’t one that’ll be like to get married—anyways not about here. She lives right with herself, but Susan Ellen ain’t nothin’ when she’s alone, she’s always after company; all the boys is waitin’ on her a’ready. I ain’t afraid but she’ll take her pick when the time comes. I expect to see Susan Ellen well settled—she feels grown up now—but Katy don’t care one mite ’bout none o’ them things. She wants to be rovin’ out o’ doors. I do believe she’d stand an’ hark to a bird the whole forenoon. ”

“Perhaps she’ll grow up to be a teacher,” suggested John Hilton. “She takes to her books more’n the other one. I should like one on ’em to be a teacher same’s my mother was. They’re good girls as anybody’s got. ”

“So they be,” said the mother, with unusual gentleness, and the creak of her rocking-chair was heard, regular as the ticking of a clock. The night breeze stirred in the great woods, and the sound of a brook that went falling down the hillside grew louder and louder. Now and then one could hear the plaintive chirp of a bird. The moon glittered with whiteness like a winter moon, and shone upon the low-roofed house until its small window-panes gleamed like silver, and one could almost see the colours of a blooming bush of lilac that grew in a sheltered angle by the kitchen door. There was an incessant sound of frogs in the lowlands.

“Be you sound asleep, John?” asked the wife presently.

“I don’t know but what I was a’most,” said the tired man, starting a little. “I should laugh if I was to fall sound asleep right here on the step; ’tis the bright night, I expect, makes my eyes feel heavy, an’ ’tis so peaceful. I was up an’ dressed a little past four an’ out to work. Well, well!” and he laughed sleepily and rubbed his eyes. “Where’s the little girls? I’d better step along an’ meet ’em. ”

“I wouldn’t just yet; they’ll get home all right, but ’tis late for ’em certain. I don’t want ’em keepin’ Mis’ Becker’s folks up neither. There, le’s wait a few minutes,” urged Mrs. Hilton.

“I’ve be’n a-thinkin’ all day I’d like to give the child’n some kind of a treat,” said the father, wide awake now. “I hurried up my work ’cause I had it so in mind. They don’t have the opportunities some do, an’ I want ’em to know the world, an’ not stay right here on the farm like a couple o’ bushes. ”

“They’re a sight better off not to be so full o’ notions as some is,” protested the mother, suspiciously.

“Certain,” answered the farmer; “but they’re good, bright child’n, an’ commencin’ to take a sight o’ notice. I want ’em to have all we can give ’em. I want ’em to see how other folks does things. ”

“Why, so do I”—here the rocking-chair stopped ominously—“but so long’s they’re contented——”

“Contented ain’t all in this world; hopper-toads may have that quality an’ spend all their time a-blinkin’. I don’t know’s bein’ contented is all there is to look for in a child. Ambition’s somethin’ to me. ”