But, alas! the younger and fresher and happier Samantha looked, the
older and sadder and meeker David appeared, till all hopes of his
"spunking up" died out of the village heart; and, it might as well be
stated, out of Samantha's also. She always thought about it at sun-down,
for it was at sun-down that all their quarrels and reconciliations had
taken place, inasmuch as it was the only leisure time for week-day
courting at Pleasant River.
It was sun-down now; Miss Vilda and Jabez Slocum had gone to Wednesday
evening prayer-meeting, and Samantha was looking for Timothy to go to
the store with her on some household errands. She had seen the children
go into the garden a half hour before, Timothy walking gravely, with his
book before him, Gay blowing over the grass like a feather, and so she
walked towards the summer-house.
Timothy was not there, but little Lady Gay was having a party all to
herself, and the scene was such a pretty one that Samantha stooped
behind the lattice and listened.
There was a table spread for four, with bits of broken china and shells
for dishes, and pieces of apple and gingerbread for the feast. There
were several dolls present (notably one without any head, who was not
likely to shine at a dinner party), but Gay's first-born sat in her lap;
and only a mother could have gazed upon such a battered thing and loved
it. For Gay took her pleasures madly, and this faithful creature had
shared them all; but not having inherited her mother's somewhat rare
recuperative powers, she was now fit only for a free bed in a
hospital,--a state of mind and body which she did not in the least
endeavor to conceal.
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