Poor Aunt Peg had great misgivings concerning Plint, and groaned audibly
throughout the entire service. Matthias was a great comfort to her
through her trouble, and she told Clara and me when we called on her,
that he was not as clean as she wished, but he was a mighty comfort to
her, and the greatest blessing Aunt could have sent. Plint's fiddle hung
against the wall in her little room with whitened floor and
straight-back chairs, and I could not keep back the tears when I noticed
that she had a bunch of wild violets tied to the old bow. She noticed it
and burst into tears herself, crying:
"That there fiddle was no use no way, but seems now I kinder reckon on
't." She was true to these intuitions of the soul, these thoughts that
cover tenderly even the remembrance of a wasted life, and we could not
but think that if Plint had not loved cider so well, he might perhaps
have developed rare musical talent.
I had been true to myself as far as Mr. Benton was concerned, and since
our last stormy interview, treated him with respectful indifference. He
had two or three times attempted to bring about a better state of
affairs, but I could not and did not give him any encouragement. I felt
wronged and also justified in the establishment of myself where I should
be safe from greater trouble at his hands.
The first day of July, the day for Louis' coming, dawned auspiciously,
and I was as happy as a bird. It seemed to me my trouble was nearly
over, and Louis, when he came in at our door that night, looked
admiringly at me, and after supper he said:
"Emily, you are growing beautiful, do you know it?"
"I hope so," I said honestly, "you know how homely I have always been.
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