One morning, some days later, Peleg Hopkins came in with a grin and said, “The’s some folks eout in front wants you to come eout an’ see ’em.”
“Who are they?” asked John, who for the moment was in the back room and had not seen the carriage drive up.
“The two Verjoos gals,” said Peleg with another distortion of his freckled countenance. “One on ’em hailed me as I was comin’ in and ast me to ast you to come eout.” John laughed a little as he wondered what their feeling would be were they aware that they were denominated as the “Verjoos gals” by people of Peleg’s standing in the community.
“We were so sorry to miss your visit the other evening,” said Miss Clara, after the usual salutations.
John said something about the loss having been his own, and after a few remarks of no special moment the young woman proceeded to set forth her errand.
“Do you know the Bensons from Syrchester?” she asked.
John replied that he knew who they were but had not the pleasure of their acquaintance.
“Well,” said Miss Clara, “they are extremely nice people, and Mrs. Benson is very musical; in fact, Mr. Benson does something in that line himself. They have with them for a few days a violinist, Fairman I think his name is, from Boston, and a pianist—what was it, Juliet?”
“Schlitz, I think,” said Miss Verjoos.
“Oh, yes, that is it, and they are coming to the house tonight, and we are going to have some music in an informal sort of way. We shall be glad to have you come if you can.”
“I shall be delighted,” said John sincerely. “At what time?”
“Any time you like,” she said; “but the Bensons will probably get there about half-past eight or nine o’clock.”
“Thank you very much, and I shall be delighted,” he repeated.
Miss Clara looked at him for a moment with a hesitating air.
“There is another thing,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” she replied, “I may as well tell you that you will surely be asked to sing. Quite a good many people who have heard you in the quartette in church are anxious to hear you sing alone, Mrs. Benson among them.”
John’s face fell a little.
“You do sing other than church music, do you not?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted, “I know some other music.”
“Do you think it would be a bore to you.”
“No,” said John, who indeed saw no way out of it; “I will bring some music, with pleasure, if you wish.”
“That’s very nice of you,” said Miss Clara, “and you will give us all a great deal of pleasure.”
He looked at her with a smile.
“That will depend,” he said, and after a moment, “Who will play for me?”
“I had not thought of that,” was the reply. “I think I rather took it for granted that you could play for yourself. Can’t you?”
“After a fashion, and simple things,” he said, “but on an occasion I would rather not attempt it.”
The girl looked at her sister in some perplexity.
“I should think,” suggested Miss Verjoos, speaking for the second time, “that Mr. or Herr Schlitz would play your accompaniments, particularly if Mrs. Benson were to ask him, and if he can play for the violin I should fancy he can for the voice.”
“Very well,” said John, “we will let it go at that.” As he spoke David came round the corner of the bank and up to the carriage.
“How d’y’ do, Miss Verjoos? How air ye, Miss Claricy?” he asked, taking off his straw hat and mopping his face and head with his handkerchief. “Guess we’re goin’ to lose our sleighin’, ain’t we?”
“It seems to be going pretty fast,” replied Miss Clara, laughing.
“Yes’m,” he remarked, “we sh’ll be scrapin’ bare ground putty soon now if this weather holds on. How’s the old hoss now you got him agin?” he asked. “Seem to ’ve wintered putty well? Putty chipper, is he?”
“Better than ever,” she affirmed. “He seems to grow younger every year.”
“Come, now,” said David, “that ain’t a-goin’ to do. I cal’lated to sell ye another hoss this summer anyway. Ben dependin’ on’t in fact, to pay a dividend. The bankin’ bus’nis has been so neglected since this feller come that it don’t amount to much any more,” and he laid his hand on John’s shoulder, who colored a little as he caught a look of demure amusement in the somber eyes of the elder sister.
“After that,” he said, “I think I had better get back to my neglected duties,” and he bowed his adieus.
“No, sir,” said Miss Clara to David, “you must get your dividend out of someone else this summer.”
“Wa’al,” said he, “I see I made a mistake takin’ such good care on him. Guess I’ll have to turn him over to Dug Robinson to winter next year. Ben havin’ a little visit with John?” he asked. Miss Clara colored a little, with something of the same look
