BUD WOOING.
The Sunday that Ralph spent in Lewisburg, the Sunday that Shocky spent
in an earthly paradise, the Sunday that Mrs. Thomson spent with Shocky
instead of old Mowley, the Sunday that Miss Nancy thought was "just like
heaven," was also an eventful Sunday with Bud Means. He had long adored
Miss Martha in his secret heart, but, like many other giants, while
brave enough to face and fight dragons, he was a coward in the presence
of the woman that he loved. Let us honor him for it. The man who loves a
woman truly, reverences her profoundly and feels abashed in her
presence. The man who is never abashed in the presence of womanhood, the
man who tells his love without a tremor, is a shallow egotist. Bud's
nature was not fine. But it was deep, true, and manly. To him Martha
Hawkins was the chief of women. What was he that he should aspire to
possess her? And yet on that Sunday, with his crippled arm carefully
bound up, with his cleanest shirt, and with his heavy boots freshly
oiled with the fat of the raccoon, he started hopefully through fields
white with snow to the house of Squire Hawkins. When he started his
spirits were high, but they descended exactly in proportion to his
proximity to the object of his love. He thought himself not dressed well
enough He wished his shoulders were not so square, and his arms not so
stout. He wished that he had book-larnin' enough to court in nice, big
words. And so, by recounting his own deficiencies, he succeeded in
making himself feel weak, and awkward, and generally good-for-nothing,
by the time he walked up between the rows of dead hollyhocks to the
Squire's front door, to tap at which took all his remaining strength.
Miss Martha received her perspiring lover most graciously, but this only
convinced Bud more than ever that she was a superior being. If she had
slighted him a bit, so as to awaken his combativeness, his bashfulness
might have disappeared.
It was in vain that Martha inquired about his arm and complimented his
courage. Bud could only think of his big feet, his clumsy hands, and his
slow tongue. He answered in monosyllables, using his red silk
handkerchief diligently.
"Is your arm improving?" asked Miss Hawkins.
"Yes, I think it is," said Bud, hastily crossing his right leg over his
left, and trying to get his fists out of sight.
"Have you heard from Mr. Pearson?"
"No, I ha'n't," answered Bud, removing his right foot to the floor
again, because it looked so big, and trying to push his left hand into
his pocket.
"Beautiful sunshine, isn't it?" said Martha.
"Yes, 'tis," answered Bud, sticking his right foot up on the rung of the
chair and putting his right hand behind him.
"This snow looks like the snow we have at the East," said Martha. "It
snowed that way the time I was to Bosting."
"Did it?" said Bud, not thinking of the snow at all nor of Boston, but
thinking how much better he would have appeared had he left his arms and
legs at home.
"I suppose Mr. Hartsook rode your horse to Lewisburg?"
"Yes, he did;" and Bud hung both hands at his side.
"You were very kind."
This set Bud's heart a-going so that he could not say anything, but he
looked eloquently at Miss Hawkins, drew both feet under the chair, and
rammed his hands into his pockets. Then, suddenly remembering how
awkward he must look, he immediately pulled his hands out again, and
crossed his legs. There was a silence of a few minutes, during which Bud
made up his mind to do the most desperate thing he could think of--to
declare his love and take the consequences.
"You see, Miss Hawkins," he began, forgetting boots and fists in his
agony, "I thought as how I'd come over here to-day, and"--but here his
heart failed him utterly--"and--see--you."
"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Means."
"And I thought I'd tell you"--Martha was sure it was coming now, for Bud
was in dead earnest--"and I thought I'd just like to tell you, ef I only
know'd jest how to tell it right"--here Bud got frightened, and did not
dare close the sentence as he had intended--"I thought as how you might
like to know--or ruther I wanted to tell you--that--the--that I--that
we--all of us--think--that--I--that we are going to have a
spellin'-school a Chewsday night."
"I'm real glad to hear it," said the bland but disappointed Martha. "We
used to have spelling-schools at the East." But Miss Martha could not
remember that they had them "to Bosting."
Hard as it is for a bashful man to talk, it is still more difficult for
him to close the conversation. Most men like to leave a favorable
impression, and a bashful man is always waiting with the forlorn hope
that some favorable turn in the talk may let him out without absolute
discomfiture. And so Bud stayed a long time, and how he ever did get
away he never could tell.