In the early dusk of a warm September evening the bats were flitting to
and fro, as if it were still summer, under the great elm that
overshadowed Isaac Brown's house, on the Dipford road. Isaac Brown
himself, and his old friend and neighbor John York, were leaning
against the fence.
"Frost keeps off late, don't it?" said John York. "I laughed when I
first heard about the circus comin'; I thought 't was so unusual late
in the season. Turned out well, however. Everybody I noticed was
returnin' with a palm-leaf fan. Guess they found 'em useful under the
tent; 't was a master hot day. I saw old lady Price with her hands
full o' those free advertisin' fans, as if she was layin' in a stock
against next summer. Well, I expect she 'll live to enjoy 'em."
"I was right here where I 'm standin' now, and I see her as she was
goin' by this mornin'," said Isaac Brown, laughing, and settling
himself comfortably against the fence as if they had chanced upon a
welcome subject of conversation. "I hailed her, same 's I gener'lly
do. 'Where are you bound to-day, ma'am?' says I.
"'I 'm goin' over as fur as Dipford Centre,' says she. 'I 'm goin' to
see my poor dear 'Liza Jane. I want to 'suage her grief; her husband,
Mr. 'Bijah Topliff, has passed away.'
"'So much the better,' says I.
"'No; I never l'arnt about it till yisterday,' says she; an' she looked
up at me real kind of pleasant, and begun to laugh.
"'I hear he's left property,' says she, tryin' to pull her face down
solemn. I give her the fifty cents she wanted to borrow to make up her
car-fare and other expenses, an' she stepped off like a girl down
tow'ds the depot.
"This afternoon, as you know, I 'd promised the boys that I 'd take 'em
over to see the menagerie, and nothin' would n't do none of us any good
but we must see the circus too; an' when we'd just got posted on one o'
the best high seats, mother she nudged me, and I looked right down
front two, three rows, an' if there wa'n't Mis' Price, spectacles an'
all, with her head right up in the air, havin' the best time you ever
see. I laughed right out. She had n't taken no time to see 'Liza
Jane; she wa'n't 'suagin' no grief for nobody till she 'd seen the
circus. 'There,' says I, 'I do like to have anybody keep their young
feelin's!'"
"Mis' Price come over to see our folks before breakfast," said John
York. "Wife said she was inquirin' about the circus, but she wanted to
know first if they couldn't oblige her with a few trinkets o' mournin',
seein' as how she 'd got to pay a mournin' visit. Wife thought 't was
a bosom-pin, or somethin' like that, but turned out she wanted the
skirt of a dress; 'most anything would do, she said."
"I thought she looked extra well startin' off," said Isaac, with an
indulgent smile. "The Lord provides very handsome for such, I do
declare! She ain't had no visible means o' support these ten or
fifteen years back, but she don't freeze up in winter no more than we
do."
"Nor dry up in summer," interrupted his friend; "I never did see such
an able hand to talk."
"She's good company, and she's obliging an' useful when the women folks
have their extra work progressin'," continued Isaac Brown kindly. "'T
ain't much for a well-off neighborhood like this to support that old
chirpin' cricket. My mother used to say she kind of helped the work
along by 'livenin' of it. Here she comes now; must have taken the last
train, after she had supper with 'Lizy Jane. You stay still; we 're
goin' to hear all about it."
The small, thin figure of Mrs. Price had to be hailed twice before she
could be stopped.
"I wish you a good evenin', neighbors," she said. "I have been to the
house of mournin'."
"Find 'Liza Jane in, after the circus?" asked Isaac Brown, with equal
seriousness. "Excellent show, was n't it, for so late in the season?"
"Oh, beautiful; it was beautiful, I declare," answered the pleased
spectator readily. "Why, I did n't see you, nor Mis' Brown. Yes; I
felt it best to refresh my mind an' wear a cheerful countenance. When
I see 'Liza Jane I was able to divert her mind consid'able. She was
glad I went. I told her I 'd made an effort, knowin' 'twas so she had
to lose the a'ternoon. 'Bijah left property, if he did die away from
home on a foreign shore."
"You don't mean that 'Bijah Topliff 's left anything!" exclaimed John
York with interest, while Isaac Brown put both hands deep into his
pockets, and leaned back in a still more satisfactory position against
the gatepost.
"He enjoyed poor health," answered Mrs. Price, after a moment of
deliberation, as if she must take time to think. "'Bijah never was one
that scattereth, nor yet increaseth. 'Liza Jane's got some memories o'
the past that's a good deal better than others; but he died somewheres
out in Connecticut, or so she heard, and he's left a very val'able coon
dog,--one he set a great deal by. 'Liza Jane said, last time he was to
home, he priced that dog at fifty dollars. 'There, now, 'Liza Jane,'
says I, right to her, when she told me, 'if I could git fifty dollars
for that dog, I certain' would. Perhaps some o' the circus folks would
like to buy him; they 've taken in a stream o' money this day.' But
'Liza Jane ain't never inclined to listen to advice. 'T is a dreadful
poor-spirited-lookin' creatur'. I don't want no right o' dower in him,
myself."
"A good coon dog 's worth somethin', certain," said John York
handsomely.
"If he is a good coon dog," added Isaac Brown. "I would n't have
parted with old Rover, here, for a good deal of money when he was right
in his best days; but a dog like him 's like one of the family. Stop
an' have some supper, won't ye, Mis' Price?"--as the thin old creature
was flitting off again. At that same moment this kind invitation was
repeated from the door of the house; and Mrs. Price turned in,
unprotesting and always sociably inclined, at the open gate.