testimony. "Whoever's had the doin' for 'em! All banged about, same as
if the' was yaller dogs. I took a look at 'em as we come along, and I
felt to pity 'em, now I tell you. I could take care of 'em, Miss Bute,
jest as well as not, with what I had of my own, and they wouldn't
suffer none. I think a sight of that red cow, and the other one,
too."
"And I could do for both of you," cried Betsy, "all you'd want
done--me and Bije together. I could run over every mornin' and
afternoon, and clean up if you wasn't feelin' smart, and Bije could do
the chores. And--and there'd be Baby for company!" she added, with a
little downward look of heavenly pride,--the very look, I declare, of
a certain Bellini Madonna, who holds her lovely state in Venice. But
now the baby thought his turn had come, and after a careful scrutiny
of the two elderly women, he held out his arms and fairly shouted at
Miss Resigned Elizabeth.
"You blessed creetur?" cried the poor woman, pouncing upon him with
the pathetic hunger of a woman who was meant for a mother. "Did he
want to come, bless his heart? Well, he should!" and she took the
child up, and hugged and cuddled it "real knowin'," as Betsy said to
herself. Miss Duty looked on in amazement. She had not the mother
nature. "Why, Resigned 'Liz, you're fairly childish. The idea!" She
paused, feeling rebuked, she knew not why, by the joy in her sister's
pinched and faded face. Miss Resigned Elizabeth had not had a joyous
life.
"Well, if 't is to be so," Miss Duty continued, after a pause, during
which Betsy and the younger sister held their breath and Bije thought
about the cows. "If 't is to be so, so it will be, I s'pose. I dono'
but you can go right in, Betsy, if it's so you can stay. My sister
ain't goin' to spend another night there. Perhaps you'll help her lay
her things together. And Bije, if you feel to milk the cows
to-night--I'm free to say I should like to send that John Peaslee
about his business, after the hectorin' he's give us this late. You'll
find the pails--"
But Bijah was already gone, whistling joyously. As if he didn't know
where the milk-pails were!
"Betsy," Miss Duty continued, turning back to instruct the new tenant
as to her course of action. But Betsy was gone, too; flown into the
house with her baby, like a bird into its nest. Only Miss Resigned
Elizabeth remained, looking at her with eyes that seemed to grow more
plaintive and more helpless every minute, as the burden of
responsibility dropped from her tired shoulders.
"You go right in the house this minute, Resigned 'Liz!" said Miss
Duty, severely. "Gettin' your death out here in this night-air! The
idea!" And with a frown that was better than a smile, she went into
the house, driving her sister before her.
"A plague o' both your houses?" Nay! only joy on one side and the
other of the white picket-fence. On the one side, content and peaceful
days, with ten years' gossip to talk over, and the sense of being
cared for, and of having "folks" once more. Happy old age coming
softly, bringing with it grace and gentle words, and ways which their
grim youth had never known; finally, the absolute rest which came from
Betsy's and Bijah's watchful love and care, and the strange pleasure
of being called "aunt" by the baby, and the succeeding babies. Yes,
the Bute girls were happy for the first time in their lives.
And on the other side of the fence? Ah! there it was not the calm
peace of evening, but the fresh joy of morning and of spring. Seeing
that there was no one in the world who could hold a candle to Bijah,
and that Betsy was the best woman there was in these parts, let alone
furrin lands, why should they not have been happy? And beside all
this, had they not the most wonderful children, probably, that had
ever been seen? There was not a doubt of it in Betsy's mind, nor in
Miss Resigned Elizabeth's. Taking these things into consideration,
together with the fact that their cows were most remarkable cows, and
their hens the finest that had ever clucked in Verona, is it to be
wondered at that our little friends were very happy, and the old
ladies so good, and one of 'em an angel if she ever dared to call her
soul her own?
A blessing on both houses! Peace and good-will, and all loving and
tender thoughts! And may the sun, as he rises over the great
hill-shoulder, always cast his brightest beams on the Indiana road.
THE END.
_Books by Laura E. Richards._
=Melody.= The Story of a Child. 16mo, cloth,
50 cents.
Had there never been a "Captain January," "Melody"
would easily take first place.--_Boston Times._
The quaintly pretty, touching, old-fashioned story is told
with perfect grace, the few persons who belong to it are
touched in with distinctness and with sympathy.--_Milwaukee
Sentinel._
=Captain January.= Square 16mo, cloth (white
back), 50 cents.
A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose success
has been very remarkable. One reads it, is thoroughly
charmed by it, tells others, and so its fame has been
heralded by its readers, until to-day it is selling by the
thousands, constantly enlarging the circle of its delighted
admirers.
=Same.= _Illustrated Holiday Edition._ With thirty
half-tone pictures from drawings by Frank T.
Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25.
=Narcissa=, and a companion Story, =In Verona=.
16mo, cloth, 50 cents.
=When I was Your Age.= 4to, cloth, gilt top,
$1.25.
The title most happily introduces the reader to the
charming home life of Dr. Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward
Howe, during the childhood of the author.
=Glimpses of the French Court.= Sketches from
French History. Illustrated with a series of
portraits in etching and photogravure. Square
12mo, cloth, $1.50.
With true literary touch, she gives us the story of some
of the salient figures of this remarkable period.
=Marie.= Square 16mo, 50 cents.
_Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston._
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been
harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. Bold
text has been marked with =equal signs=. The Advertisement "Books
by Laura E. Richards" was originally at the front of the book and
has been moved to the end.
End of Project Gutenberg's Narcissa, or the Road to Rome, by Laura E. Richards