"Not in public; so they meet 'em side o' the river or round the corner of Bart's shop, or anywhere they can, when the Deacon's back's turned. If you tied a handkerchief over Waitstill's eyes she could find her way blindfold to Ivory Boynton's house, but she's good as gold, Waitstill is; she'll stay where her duty calls her, every time! If any misfortune or scandal should come near them two girls, the Deacon will have no-body but himself to thank for it, that's one sure thing!"
"Young folks can't be young but once," sighed Mrs. Day. "I t hought we had as handsome a turn-out at the entertainment last evenin' as any village on the Saco River could 'a' furnished: an' m y Phoebe an' your Cephas, if I do say so as shouldn't, was about the best-dressed an' best-appearin' couple there was present.
Also, I guess likely, they're startin' out with as good prospects as any bride an' groom that's walked up the middle aisle o' the meetin'-house for many a year. . . . How'd you like that Boston singer that the Wilsons brought here, Abby?--Wait a minute, is Cephas, or the Deacon, tendin' store this after-noon?"
"The Deacon; Cephas is paintin' up to the Mills."
"Well, Mark Wilson's horse an' buggy is meanderin' slowly down Aunt Betty-Jack's hill, an' Mark is studyin' the road as if he was lookin' for a four-leafed clover."
"He'll hitch at the tavern, or the Edgewood store, an' wait his chance to get a word with Patience," said Aunt Abby. "He knows when she takes milk to the Morrills', or butter to the parsonage; a lso when she eats an' drinks an' winks her eye an' ketches her breath an' lifts her foot. Now he's disappeared an' we'll wait. .
. . Why, as to that Boston singer,--an' by the way, they say Ellen Wilson's goin' to take lessons of her this winter,--she kind o' bewildered me, Lyddy! Of course, I ain't never been to any cities, so I don't feel altogether free to criticise; but what did you think of her, when she run up so high there, one time? I don't know how high she went, but I guess there wa'n't no higher to go!"
"It made me kind o' nervous," allowed Mrs. Day.
"Nervous! Bart' an' I broke out in a cold sweat! He said she couldn't hold a candle to Waitstill Baxter. But it's that little fly-away Wilson girl that'll get the lessons, an' Waitstill will have to use her voice callin' the Deacon home to dinner. Things ain't divided any too well in this world, Lyddy."
"Waitstill's got the voice, but she lacks the trainin'. The Boston singer knows her business, I'll say that for her," said Mrs. Day.
"She's got good stayin' power," agreed Aunt Abby. "Did you notice how she held on to that high note when she'd clumb where she wanted to git? She's got breath enough to run a gristmill, that girl has! And how'd she come down, when she got good and ready to start? Why, she zig-zagged an' saw-toothed the whole way! It kind o' made my flesh creep!"
"I guess part o' the trouble's with us country folks," Mrs. Day responded, "for folks said she sung runs and trills better'n any woman up to Boston."
"Runs an' trills," ejaculated Abby scornfully. "I was talkin'bout singin' not runnin'. My niece Ella up to Parsonfield has taken three terms on the pianner an' I've heerd her practise.
Scales has got to be done, no doubt, but they'd ought to be done to home, where they belong; a concert ain't no place for 'em. . .
. There, what did I tell yer? Patience Baxter's crossin' the bridge with a pail in her hand. She's got that everlastin' y eller-brown, linsey-woolsey on, an' a white 'cloud' wrapped around her head with con'sid'able red hair showin' as usual. You can always see her fur's you can a sunrise! And there goes Rod Boynton, chasin' behind as usual. Those Baxter girls make a perfect fool o' that boy, but I don't s'pose Lois Boynton's got wit enough to make much fuss over the poor little creeter!"
Mark Wilson could certainly see Patty Baxter as far as he could a sunrise, although he was not intimately acquainted with that natural phenomenon. He took a circuitous route from his watch-tower, and, knowing well the point from which there could be no espionage from Deacon Baxter's store windows, joined Patty in the road, took the pail from her hand, and walked up the hill beside her. Of course, the village could see them, but, as Aunt Abby had intimated, there wasn't a man, woman, or child on either side of the river who wouldn't have taken the part of the Baxter girls against their father.
