“Along in April to see the woodcock flirt an’ dance’s as good’s a circus. Sometime, maybe, ’twould pleasure you to take the trip with me, and Sairy Ann’d be proud to hev you stop with her. My, here we are at your corner! How good conversation does pass the time!”
Without in the least realizing that he had been doing the whole of the talking, the pieman handed Brooke out at the door stone, Tatters limping carefully after, and Maria turned down the lane to the barn, with which she was perfectly familiar.
Brooke, hastening in to explain their unique guest to her mother and tend the sick paw, found that Mrs. Peck had been sent for to “sit up” with a bereaved household down at Gilead; telling Mrs. Lawton that it was expected of her, no matter whom she might be “accommodating,” she had left immediately, promising to return the next night.
Brooke prepared the dinner, to which was added as a contribution, received in the spirit in which it was offered, one of Mrs. Banks’ most juicy whortleberry pies (truly the best of its kind), which the Cub pronounced to be “just bully,” while in turn the pieman praised Brooke’s coffee, and, for some reason that he could not have explained, kept his knife in abeyance, while by his cheerful common sense gained the respect of his entertainers.
After he had left, taking Brooke’s ready promise to go over the route with him some spring day to see the woodcock dance and hear the partridge drum, the cloud that his cheerfulness had lifted again settled over the girl’s spirits. Why was no gleam vouchsafed to lighten her darkness as the vision of pies had led these humble people into a sort of promised land?
When she had washed the dishes and made everything neat, it was still only half-past two. She could neither sew nor read nor settle herself to write to Lucy Dean, her usual outlet when cast down; a new sort of restlessness seized her, that of a wild animal caged, who paces to and fro to its own exhaustion.
Looking into her father’s room, she saw that he slept, while Tatters, his hurt paw comfortably stretched out, lay on the rug. Her mother was writing letters at the old desk; and going out to the barn she found the Cub, with Pam of course close by, mending some spring traps that he discovered in an old barrel, and preparing to set them, for mink or weasel tracks, he could not tell which, had been seen that morning about the chicken house. He was so absorbed and fascinated with his occupation that he only grunted answers to his sister’s questions, so she returned to the house, realizing that the change was doing wonders for the Cub, which was one consolation.