The Wooing of Calvin Parks Part 19

A voice spoke from the doorway; a woman's voice, full and clear, with a sharp ring of decision.

"Now you love each other pretty, right away, or I'll take the back of the hairbrush to you both!"

"_Ma_!" cried the twins; and they fell on their knees beside the little chair.

"I told 'em shut their eyes, and then slipped out!" said Calvin Parks.

"They never missed me. Jerusalem! Miss Hands, if you'll excuse the expression, how did you manage it? you got her tone to the life, I tell you."

"I always had the trick of followin' a voice," said Mary Sands modestly.

"And I remembered Cousin Lucindy's to Conference, for she used to speak an amazin' deal. Oh! Mr. Parks, listen! do listen to them two poor old creatur's!"

They listened. From the front room came a babble of talk, two voices flowing together in a stream, pauseless, inseparable; so fast the stream flowed, there seemed no time for breathing. But now, as the conspirators listened, dish-cloth in hand and joy in their hearts, the voices ceased for a moment, and then, with one consent, broke out into quavering, squeaking, piping song.

"Old John Twyseed; Old John Twyseed; Biled his corn, As sure's you're born, And come to borrow my seed.

"Old John Twyseed, Bought a pound o' rye seed; Paid a cent, And warn't content, But thought 'twas awful high seed.

"Old John Twyseed, Sold his neighbor dry seed; Didn't sprout; Says he 'Git out!

I thought 'twas extry spry seed!'"

CHAPTER XV

BY WAY OF CONTRAST

"I wish't you could stay to supper!" said Mary Sands.

"I wish't I could!" said Calvin. "I want you to understand that right enough; and I guess you do!" he added, with a look that brought the color into Mary's wholesome brown cheek. "But they plead with me kind o'

pitiful, and--honest, I'm sorry for them two women, Miss Hands. They don't seem to be real pop'lar with the neighbors--I don't know just how 'tis, but so 'tis,--and they kind o' look to me, you see. You understand how 'tis, don't you, Mary--I would say Miss Hands?"

"I expect I do, Mr. Parks!" said Mary gently, yet with some significance.

Calvin looked down at her, and his heart swelled. An immense wave of tenderness seemed to flow from him, enfolding the little woman as she stood there, so neat and trim in her blue cashmere dress, her pretty head bent, the light playing in the waves of her pretty hair.

"For two cents and a half," Calvin Parks said silently, "I'd pick you up and carry you off this minute of time. You're my woman, and don't you forget it!" Then he spoke aloud, and his voice sounded strange in his ears.

"You and the boys," he said, "are always askin' me for stories. If--if I should come and tell you a story some day--the very first day I had a right to--that the boys warn't goin' to hear, nor anybody else but just you--would you listen to it, Miss Hands?"

Mary's head bent still lower, and she examined the hem of her ap.r.o.n critically. "I expect I would, Mr. Parks!" she said softly.

But when Calvin had driven off, chirrupping joyfully to the brown horse, Mary's little brown hands came together with a clasp, and she looked anxiously after him.

"If they don't get you away from me!" she said. "Oh! my good, kind,--there! _stupid_ dear, if they don't get you away from me!"

"Hossy," said Calvin; "do you feel good? Do you? Speak up!"

The brown horse shook his head as the whip cracked past his ear, and whinnied reproachfully.

"Sho!" said Calvin. "You don't mean that. I know it's a mite late, but we'll get there, and you're sure of a good supper, whatever I be. But we've had us a great day, little hossy! we've had us a great day. Them two poor old mis'able lobster-claws is j'ined together, and betwixt the two they'll make a pretty fair lobster, take and humor 'em, and kind of ease 'em along till they get used to each other again. And they ain't the only ones that's feelin' good, little hossy; no siree and the bob-cat's tail! You take them four good-lookin' legs of your'n round the Lord's earth, and if you find a happier man than little Calvin is to-night, I'll give you a straw bunnet for Easter. Put that in your--well, not exactly pipe and smoke it--say nose-bag and smell it!

Gitty up, you little hossy!" He flourished the whip round the head of the brown horse, who, catching the holiday spirit, flung up his heels incontinent, and broke into a canter even as his master broke into song.

"Now Renzo had a feedle, That's what Renzo had, tiddy hi!

'Twas humped up in the meedle, So haul the bowline, haul!

He played a tune, and the old cow died, And the skipper and crew jumped over the side, And swum away on the slack of the tide, So haul the bowline, haul!"

The moon came up over the great snow-fields, and the world from ghostly white flashed into silver and ebony. The "orbed maiden" seemed to smile on Calvin Parks as he jogged along the white road; perhaps in all her sweep of vision she may have seen few things pleasanter than this middle-aged lover.

"Looks real friendly, don't she?" said Calvin. "And no wonder! Christmas night, and a prospect like this; it's what _I_ call sightly! I wish't I had my little woman along to see it with me; don't you, hossy? What say?

You speak up now, when I talk to you about a lady! Where's your manners?"

The whip cracked like a pistol shot, and the brown horse flung up his heels again from sheer good will, and whinnied his excuses.

"Now you're talkin'!" said Calvin Parks. "And you'd better, little hossy. I want you to understand right now that if you warn't the hossy you are--and if two-three other things were as they ain't--summer instead of winter, for one of 'em--it ain't ridin' I'd be takin' that little woman, no sir! I'd get her aboard the Mary Sands, and we'd go slippin' down along sh.o.r.e, coastwise, seein' the country slidin' past, and hear the water lip-lappin', and the wind singin' in the riggin,'--what? I tell you! there'd be a pair of vessels if ever the Lord made one and man the other.

"Sho! seein' in that paper that Cap'n Bates was leavin' the Mary and goin' aboard a tug has got me worked up, kind of. If it warn't that I had sworn off rovin' and rollin' for ever more--I tell you! Jerusalem!

but I'd like to hear the Mary talkin' once more--never was a vessel had a pleasanter way of speakin'--there again they're alike, them two. Take her with all sails drawin', half a gale o' wind blowin', and if she don't sing, that schooner, then I never heard singin,' that's all. And even in a calm, just lying rollin' on a long swell, and she'll say 'Easy does it! easy does it! breeze up soon, and Mary knows it!' and the water lip-lappin', and the sails playin' 'Isick and Josh, Isick and Josh,'--great snakes! Gitty up, hossy, or I shall take the wrong turn and drive to Bath instead of Tinkham."

Spite of moonlight and good spirits, the way was long, and it was near nine o'clock when Calvin drove in at the Widow Marlin's gateway. He whistled, a cheerful and propitiatory note, as he drove past the house to the barn.

"Presume likely they'll be put out some at me bein' late," he said; "but you shall have your supper first, hossy, don't you be afeared! They can't no more than kill me, anyway, and I don't know as they'd find it specially easy to-night."

The house was ominously silent as Calvin entered. The kitchen was empty, and he opened the door of the sitting-room, but paused on the threshold.

Miss Phrony Marlin was sitting in the corner, weeping ostentatiously, with loud and prolonged sniffs. Her mother, a little withered woman like crumpled parchment, cowered witch-like over the air-tight stove, and looked at Calvin and then at her daughter, but said nothing.

"Excuse _me_!" said Calvin, stepping back. "I'll go into the kitchen. I didn't know; no bad news, I hope, Mis' Marlin?"

"She's all broke up!" said the old woman.

"So I see. Anything special happened?"

"Oh! you cruel man!" moaned Miss Phrony from the corner.

"Who?" said Calvin. "Me? Now what a way to talk! What's the matter, Miss Phrony? What have I done? Why, I haven't been here since breakfast time."

"That's it!" said the widow. "She's ben lookin' for you all afternoon, and she had extry victuals cooked for you, and you never come."

"Now ain't that a sight!" said Calvin cheerily. "Why, I told you I'd most likely be late, don't you rec'lect I did? We've been a long ways to-day, hossy and me have. How about them victuals, now? I could eat a barn door, seem's though."

"How long was you at them Sillses?" demanded Miss Phrony, wiping her eyes elaborately. "You didn't keep _them_ waitin', I'll be bound."