“I stood the little plant beside my pillow when I went to sleep last night, and remembered it in my dreams. When the day came, and the glorious red sun--the red sun, Father?”
“Red in the mornings and in the evenings, Bertha,” said poor Caleb, with a woeful glance at his employer.
“When it rose, and bright light came into the room, I turned the little tree towards it, and blessed Heaven for making such precious things, and blessed you for sending it to cheer me.”
“Whew!” said Tackleton under his breath, “we’re getting on! The next thing will be the padded cell.”
Meanwhile Caleb looked as if he were uncertain whether Tackleton had done anything deserving of praise or not. Yet he knew that with his own hands he had brought the little rose tree home for her so carefully, and that with his own lips he had made her believe that it was a gift from Tackleton, in order to keep her from suspecting how much he every day denied himself to save the money it cost--that she might be the happier.
“Bertha!” said Tackleton, with for once a show of cordiality, “Come here.”
“Oh, I can come straight to you. You needn’t guide me!”
How bright the darkened face looked! How anxious the listening head!
“This is the day on which that spoiled child, John Peerybingle’s wife, pays her regular visit to you--makes what she calls her ‘picnic’ here, ain’t it?” said Tackleton, with a look of distaste for the affair.
“Yes,” replied Bertha, “this is the day.”
“I thought so,” said Tackleton. “I should like to join the party.”
“Do you hear that, Father?” cried Bertha in delight.
“Yes, yes, I heard it,” murmured Caleb, with the look somewhat of a sleepwalker, “but I don’t believe it.”
“You see,” said Tackleton, “I--I want to bring the Peerybingles a little more into the company of May Fielding, for I am going to be married to May.”
“Married!” cried the blind girl, starting from him.
“Oh! She’s such a confounded idiot,” muttered Tackleton, “that I was afraid she’d never comprehend. Ah, yes, Bertha! Married! Church, parson, clerk, bells, satin, veils, and all the rest of the tomfoolery. A wedding, you know; a wedding. Don’t you know what a wedding is?”
“I know,” replied the blind girl gently. “I understand.”
“Do you?” muttered Tackleton. “It’s more than I expected.” Then aloud: “Well, on that account I want to join the party, and bring May and her mother. I’ll send in a little something or other before the afternoon--a cold leg of mutton, or some comfortable trifle of that sort. You’ll expect me?”