“H’m—ah—well, Miss Hester, don’t you think you’d better let the Lord do that?”
“Nonsense, ’Liphalet! you ain’t got no insight at all. I believe in people a-doin’ their part an’ not a-shovin’ everything off on the Lord. The shiftless don’t want nothin’ better than to say that they will leave the Lord to take care o’ things, an’ then fold their arms an’ set down an’ let things go to the devil. Remember, Brother Hodges, I don’t mean that in a perfane way. But then, because God made the sunlight an’ the rain, it ain’t no sign that we shouldn’t prune the vine.”
Miss Hester’s face had flushed up with the animation of her talk, and her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
Eliphalet looked at her, and his heart leaped. He felt that the time had come to speak.
“Miss Hester,” he began, and the hat in his hand went round and round nervously.
“ ’Liphalet, fur goodness’ sake do lay yore hat on the table. You’ll ruin the band of it, an’ you make me as nervous as a cat.”
He felt a little dampened after this, but he laid down the offending hat and began again. “I’ve been thinkin’ some myself, Miss Hester, an’ it’s been about you.”
“About me? La, ’Liphalet, what have you been a-thinkin’ now?” The “now” sounded as if his thoughts were usually rather irresponsible.
“It was about you an’—an’—old Bess.”
“About me an’ old Bess! Bless my soul, man, will you stop beatin’ about the bush an’ tell me what on airth I’ve got to do with yore horse?”
“Old Bess is dead, Miss Hester; died last night o’ colic.”
“Well, I thought there was somethin’ the matter with you. I’m mighty sorry to hear about the poor old creatur; but she’d served you a long while.”
“That’s jest what set me a-thinkin’: she has served me a long while, an’ now she’s dead. Do you know what that means, Miss Hester? It means that we’re a-gittin’ old, you an’ me. Do you know when I got old Bess? It was nigh thirty years ago: I used to ride her up to this door an’ tie her to that tree out there: it was a saplin’ then. An’ now she’s dead.”
The man’s voice trembled, and his listener was strangely silent.
“You know on what errands the old horse used to bring me,” he went on, “but it wasn’t to be—then. Hester,” he rose, went over to her, and looked down into her half-averted face, which went red and pale by turns—“Hester, ain’t we wasted time enough?”
There was a long pause before she lifted her face: he stood watching her with the light of a great eagerness in his eyes. At last she spoke. There was a catch in her voice; it was softer than usual.
“ ’Liphalet,” she began, “I’m right glad you remember those days. I ain’t never furgot ’em myself. It’s true you’ve been a good, loyal friend to me, an’ I thank you fur it, but, after all these years—”
He broke in upon her with something like youthful impetuosity. “After all these years,” he exclaimed, “an endurin’ love ought to be rewarded. Hester, I ain’t a-goin’ to take ‘no’ fur an answer. I’ve got lots o’ years o’ life in me yet—we both have—an’ I ain’t a-goin’ on with an empty home an’ an empty heart no longer.”
“ ’Liphalet, you ain’t a young man no more, an’ I ain’t a young woman, an’ the Lord—”
“I don’t care ef I ain’t; an’ I don’t believe in shovin’ everything off on the Lord.”
“ ’Liphalet!” It was a reproach.
“Hester!” This was love. He put his arm around her and kissed her. “You’re a-goin’ to say yes, ain’t you? You ain’t a-goin’ to send me away miserable? You’re a-dyin’ to say yes, but you’re a-tryin’ to force yoreself not to. Don’t.” He lifted her face as a young lover might, and looked down into her eyes. “Is it yes?”
“Well, ’Liphalet it ’pears like you’re jest so pesterin’ that I’ve got to say yes. Yes, then.” And she returned the quiet but jubilant kiss that he laid upon her lips.
“After all these years,” he said. “Sorrow may last fur a night, but joy cometh in the mornin’. It was a long night, but, thank the Lord, mornin’s broke.” Then, rising, he went to the door and called joyously, “Freddie, come on in: it’s all over.”
“ ’Liphalet, did that boy know what you was a-goin’ to say?”
“Yes, o’ course he did.”
“Oh, my! oh, my! Well, I’ve got a good mind to take it all back. Oh, my!” And when Fred came in, for the first time in her life Miss Prime was abashed and confused in his presence.
But Eliphalet had no thought of shame. He took her by the hand and said, “Freddie, Miss Hester’s consented at last: after thirty years, she’s a-goin’ to marry me.”
But Miss Hester broke in, “ ’Liphalet, don’t be a-puttin’ notions in that boy’s head. You go ’way, Fred, right away.”
Fred went out, but he felt bolder. He went past Elizabeth’s house whistling. He didn’t care. He wondered if he would have to wait thirty years for her. He hoped not.
Chapter IX
So great has been our absorption in the careers of Fred Brent, Miss Prime, and Eliphalet Hodges that we have sadly neglected some of the characters whose acquaintance we made at the beginning of our story. But nature and Time have been kinder—or more cruel, if you will. They have neither passed over nor neglected them. They have combined with trouble and hard work to kill one of Fred’s earliest friends. Melissa Davis is no more, and the oldest girl, Sophy, supplements her day’s work of saleswoman in a dry-goods store by getting supper in the evening and making the younger Davises step around. Mrs. Warren, the sometime friend of Margaret Brent and enemy of Miss Prime, has moved farther out, into the suburbs, for Dexter has suburbs now, and boasts electric cars and amusement parks. Time has done much
