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They grow and grow . . ." Mr. Jeminy went up the hill toward his house, carrying the box of matches.
On her face was a look of pity for Mr. Jeminy, because she had heard that he was not to teach school any longer. "It will be a hard blow to him," she thought. "Few," continued Mr. Jeminy, "go very long without their share of sorrow. And sorrow is not a light thing to bear, Mrs. Wicket. Poverty, also, falls to the lot of most of us; and it is not easy to be poor.
Here Mr. Jeminy was at home; in the evening he smoked his pipe, and read from the pages of Cervantes, whose humor, gentle and austere, comforted his mind so often vexed by the negligence of his pupils. On the evening of which I am speaking, Mr. Jeminy knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and taking from his desk a bundle of papers, began to correct his pupils' exercises.
And presently nothing was to be heard but the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. Then Mr. Jeminy, for once, could find nothing to say. It seemed to him that instead of the clock's ticking, he heard the footsteps of death in the house, on the stair . . . tik, tok, tik, tok . . . And he sighed, with sadness and horror, "Ah, my friend," he thought, "are you as frightened as I am?"
I've been as far south as Attleboro, but I've never had a view of the world, like you've had. I'll die as I've lived, without anything to be grateful for, so far as I can see." "You've had more to be grateful for than I ever had," said Mr. Jeminy simply, "and I'm not complaining." "Go along," said Aaron; "you're speaking out of kindness. But it doesn't fool me any.
Then it was only a question of walking in the direction of Milford, before she came on Mr. Jeminy in the middle of the road; so Mrs. Tomkins had said. With Sara under her arm, she tiptoed around to the rear of the house, skipped through the yard, climbed the low fence, and hurried home. There she put on her best bonnet, and took her mother's umbrella from the closet.
Jeminy, "you believe that God is an old man, insulted by everything. Now he has been insulted by Anna Barly, who did as she had a mind to. Well, well . . ." "No matter," said Mrs. Grumble comfortably, "there's the baby; you can't get around that." "Mrs. Grumble," said Mr. Jeminy earnestly, "I am going to Farmer Barly.
"Youth," said Mr. Jeminy sadly . . . And he sat quite still, staring straight ahead of him. "Well," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll be stepping on home." Clapping his hat somewhat uncertainly onto his head, he rose to go. Mr. Jeminy accompanied him to the door. "Good-night," he said. "Good-night," said Mr. Tomkins.
It was her own private peep, she thought. But she was wrong. Aaron was peeping as hard as she, and pitying her, as she was pitying him, for all he thought she was missing. As for Mr. Jeminy, he let them think what they pleased. At first he was silent, out of shame. But later he enjoyed it as much as they did. "In Ceylon," he would say, "the tea fields . . ." One day, a week after his arrival, Mr.
Jeminy, bending over, "are rotted from the wet weather." "To-morrow," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll borrow a harrow from Farmer Barly. And next spring I'll plant corn here on the hill. Then we'll have a corn-husking, Jeminy; you and I, and the rest of the young ones." And he burst out laughing, in his high, cracked voice. "Do you remember the last corn-husking?" asked Mr. Jeminy.
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