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Its too bad; Im sorry, but after all you couldnt help it.
No, but we should always look round every-wheres when were cutting; thats what Ivory says. He says folks shouldnt use edged tools till theyre old enough not to fool with em.
And Rodman looked so wise and old-fashioned for his years that Patty did not know whether to kiss him or cry over him, as she said: Ivorys always right, and now good-bye; I must go this very minute. Dont forget the picnic.
I wont! cried the boy, gazing after her, wholly entranced with her bright beauty and her kindness. Say, Ill bring something, too,white-oak acorns, if you like em; Ive got a big bagful up attic!
Patty sped down the long lane, crept under the bars, and flew like a lapwing over the high-road.
If father was only like any one else, things might be so different! she sighed, her thoughts running along with her feet. Nobody to make a home for that poor lonesome little boy and that poor lonesome big Ivory.... I am sure that he is in love with Waitstill. He doesnt know it; she doesnt know it; nobody does but me, but Im clever at guessing. I was the only one that surmised Jed Morrill was going to marry again.... I should almost like Ivory for myself, he is so tall and handsome, but of course he can never marry anybody; he is too poor and has his mother to look after. I wouldnt want to take him from Waity, though, and then perhaps I couldnt get him, anyway.... If I couldnt, hed be the only one! Ive never tried yet, but I feel in my bones, somehow, that I could have any boy in Edgewood or Riverboro, by just crooking my forefinger and beckoning to him.. .. I wishI wishthey were different! They dont make me want to beckon to them! My forefinger just stays straight and doesnt feel like crooking! Theres Cephas Cole, but hes as stupid as an owl. I dont want a husband that keeps his mouth wide open whenever Im talking, no matter whether its sense or nonsense. Theres Phil Perry, but he likes Ellen, and besides hes too serious for me; and theres Mark Wilson; hes the best dressed, and the only one thats been to college. He looks at me all the time in meeting, and asked me if I wouldnt take a walk some Sunday afternoon. I know he planned Ellens party hoping Id be there!Goodness gracious, I do believe that is his horse coming behind me! Theres no other in the village that goes at such a gait!
It was, indeed, Mark Wilson, who always drove, according to Aunt Abby Cole, as if he was goin for a doctor. He caught up with Patty almost in the twinkling of an eye, but she was ready for him. She had taken off her sunbonnet just to twirl it by the string, she was so warm with walking, and in a jiffy she had lifted the clustering curls from her ears, tucked them back with a single expert movement, and disclosed two coral pendants just the color of her ear-tips and her glowing cheeks.
Hello, Patty! the young man called, in brusque country fashion, as he reined up beside her. What are you doing over here? Why arent you on your way to the party? Ive been over to Limington and am breaking my neck to get home in time myself.
I am not going; there are no parties for me! said Patty plaintively. Not going! Oh! I say, whats the matter? It wont be a bit of fun without you! Ellen and I made it up expressly for you, thinking your father couldnt object to a candy-pull!
I cant help it; I did the best I could. Wait-still always asks father for me, but I wouldnt take any chances to-day, and I spoke to him myself; indeed I almost coaxed him!
Hes a regular old skinflint! cried Mark, getting out of the wagon and walking beside her.
You mustnt call him names, Patty interposed with some dignity. I call him a good many myself, but Im his daughter.
You dont look it, said Mark admiringly. Come and have a little ride, Wont you?
Oh, I couldnt possibly, thank you. Some one would be sure to see us, and fathers so strict.
There isnt a building for half a mile! Just jump in and have a spin till we come to the first house; then Ill let you out and you can walk the rest of the way home. Come, do, and make up to me a little for my disappointment. Ill skip the candy-pull if you say the word.
It was an incredibly brief drive, at Marks rate of speed; and as exciting and blissful as it was brief and dangerous, Patty thought. Did she imagine it, or did Mark help her into the wagon differently fromold Dr. Perry, for instance?
The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her curls and gave her cheeks a brighter color, while her breath came fast through her parted lips and her eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unaccustomed pleasure. She felt so grown up, so conscious of a new power as she sat enthroned on the little wagon seat (Mark Wilson always liked his buggies courtin size so the neighbors said), that she was almost courageous enough to agree to make a royal progress through the village; almost, but not quite.
Come on, lets shake the old tabbies up and start em talking, shall we? Mark suggested. Ill give you the reins and let Nero have a flick of the whip.
No, Id rather not drive, she said. Id be afraid of this horse, and, anyway, I must get out this very minute; yes, I really must. If you hold Nero I can just slip down between the wheels; you neednt help me.
Mark alighted notwithstanding her objections, saying gallantly, I dont miss this pleasure, not by a jugful! Come along! Jump!
Patty stretched out her hands to be helped, but Mark forestalled her by putting his arms around her and lifting her down. A second of time only was involved, but in that second he held; her close and kissed her warm cheek, her cheek that had never felt the touch of any lips but those of Waitstill. She pulled her sunbonnet over her flaming face, while Mark, with a gay smile of farewell, sprang into the wagon and gave his horse a free rein.
Patty never looked up from the road, but walked faster and faster, her heart beating at breakneck speed. It was a changed world that spun past her; fright, triumph, shame, delight, a gratified vanity swam over her in turn.
A few minutes later she heard once more the rumble of wheels on the road. It was Cephas Cole driving towards her over the brow of Saco Hill. Hell have seen Mark, she thought, but he cant know Ive talked and driven with him. Ugh! how stupid and common he looks! I heard your father blowin the supper-horn jest as I come over the bridge, remarked Cephas, drawing up in the road. He stood in the door-yard blowin like Bedlam. I guess you re late to supper.
Ill be home in a few minutes, said Patty, I got delayed and am a little behindhand.
Ill turn right round if youll git in and lemme take you back-along a piece; itll save you a good five minutes, begged Cephas, abjectly.
All right; much obliged; but its against the rules and you must drop me at the foot of our hill and let me walk up.
Certain; I know the Deacon n I aint huntin for trouble any moren you be; though I d take it quick enough if you jest give me leave! I aint no coward an I could tackle the Deacon to-morrow if so be I had anything to ask him.
This seemed to Patty a line of conversation distinctly to be discouraged under all the circumstances, and she tried to keep Cephas on the subject of his daily tasks and his mothers rheumatism until she could escape from his over-appreciative society.
How do you like my last job? he inquired as they passed his fathers house. Some think Ive got the ell a little mite too yaller. Folks that aint never handled a brush allers think they can mix paint better n them that knows their trade.