"
Mrs. Griswold shook her head doubtfully.
"I'll see what father says," said she. So Lizzy lifted her head, and
smoothed her hair, while her mother went out to the barn to consult
"father."
Here she was, if anything, more puzzled. Mr. Griswold heard the proposal
with a rather misty look, as if he didn't see why, and when his wife
finished, said, gravely,--
"What is it, Susan? Anybody 't has lived as long as I have knows pretty
well that a woman's headache stands for a whole dictionary."
"Why, you see," said Mrs. Griswold, twisting a little lock of hay in her
fingers, and faintly blushing, as if the question had been of herself
rather than Lizzy, "she--well, the fact is, husband, she's kind of riled
about John's not coming; you see we haven't been real particular about
the children, and so"----
"You needn't spell it, Susan," said Mr. Griswold, with a half smile;
"Polly Mariner's tongue helped on, I guess. You let Lizzy stay, if she
wants to; 'twon't hurt her; when folks want to sulk, I generally let
'em. She can stay."
He began to whistle "Yankee Doodle" and pitch hay energetically, while
"Susan" was within hearing; but how would that dear woman's soul have
floundered deeper and deeper in the fog that clouded it now, had she
seen her grave husband sit down on one end of the hay-mow and laugh till
the tears stood in his keen eyes, and then, drawing his coat-sleeve
across the shaggy lashes, say to himself, "Poor child!" and begin his
work with fresh strength!
So matters were all arranged.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81