It was a cold day in December, 1856, when we were startled to see Jane
coming over the hill in such a hurried way that we feared something was
the matter with the children. These children were dear to me. Hal and
Mary had a beautiful boy two and a half years old, but no bud had as yet
nestled against my heart.
I met her at the gate and asked, "What's the matter with the children?"
"Go into the house, Emily _De_-mond, 'taint the children, it's me." She
wanted us all to sit down together.
"Oh! dear, dear me, what can I do? I'm out of my head almost."
We gathered together in the middle room, and waited for her to tell us,
but she sat rocking, as if her life depended on it, full five minutes
before she could speak--it seemed an hour to me--finally she screamed
out:
"He's come back!"
"Whom do you mean?" I cried, while mother and Aunt Hildy exchanged
glances.
"He came last night; he's over to the Home, Miss Patten, d'ye hear?"
"Jane," said Aunt Hildy in a voice that sounded so far away it
frightened me, "do you mean Daniel?"
"Yes, yes; he's come back, and he wants me to forgive him, and I must
tell it, he wants me to marry him. I sat up all night talkin' and
thinkin' what I can do."
"Jane," said Aunt Hildy, in that same strange voice, "has he got any
news?"
"Both of 'em dead. Oh, Miss Patten, you'll die, I know you'll die!"
"No, I shan't. I died when they went away."
"What can I do, Miss Patten? Oh, some of you _do_ speak! Mis' _De_-mond,
you tell; you are allus right.
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