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Updated: June 19, 2025
Please, Miss Vilda, may I take Gay to see it, and will it hurt it if I wash Rags in it?" "Let 'em all go," suggested Samantha; "there's Jabe dawdlin' along the road, and they might as well be out from under foot." "Don't be too hard on Jabe this morning, Samanthy, he's been to see the Baptist minister at Edgewood; you know he's going to be baptized some time next month." "Well, he needs it!
"Everybody wants you there," replied Miss Vilda, with a softer note in her voice than anybody had ever heard there before. "Samantha wants you, Gay wants you, and Jabe is waiting out here with Maria, for he wants you." "But do you want me?" faltered the boy.
My grief! it's poetry sure 's you're born. I can tell it in a minute 'cause it don't come out to the aidge o' the book one side or the other. Read it out loud, Vildy." "'Oh! the White Farm and the White Farm! I love it with all my heart; And I'm to live at the White Farm, Till death it do us part." Miss Vilda lifted her head, intoxicated with the melody she had evoked.
"I don't know as we ought to have left 'em alone," said Vilda, looking back, as Samantha urged the moderate Maria over the road; "though I don't know exactly what they could do." "Except run away," said Samantha reflectively. "I wish to the land they would! It would be the easiest way out of a troublesome matter.
Miss Vilda was trying to assume command of her scattered faculties and find some clue to the situation. Timothy concluded that she was not, after all, the lady of the house; and, remembering the marble doorplate in the orchard, tried again. "Does Miss Martha Cummins live here, if you please?" "What do you want?" she faltered.
"You needn't be scared for fear you've lost your bargain," remarked Miss Vilda sarcastically. "There ain't so many places open to the boy that he'll turn his back on this one, I guess!" Yet, though the days of chivalry were over, that was precisely what Timothy Jessup had done.
Miss Vilda never would fling away an opportunity of putting a nameless, homeless child under the roof of a minister of the Gospel, even if he was a Baptist, with a chiny blue eye. At this exciting juncture there was a clatter of small feet; the door burst open, and the "unfortunate waifs" under consideration raced across the floor to the table where Miss Vilda and Samantha were seated.
Miss Vilda looked on the book and tried to follow the hymn; but passages of Scripture flocked into her head in place of good Dr. Watts's verses, and when the little melodeon played the interludes she could only hear: "Yea, the sparrow hath found her an house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young, even Thy altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God."
She never went to bed without me before, and truly, truly, she's not a cross baby!" "Come right along and welcome; just so long as she has to stay you're invited to visit with her. Land sakes! the neighbors will think we're killin' pigs!" and Miss Vilda started upstairs to show Timothy the way.
"Wall, I don' know," said Jabe cautiously; "there's so many kinds o' dorg in him you can't hardly tell what he will do. When dorgs is mixed beyond a certain p'int it kind o' muddles up their instincks, 'n' you can't rely on 'em. Still you might try him. Hold still, 'n' see what he'll do." Miss Vilda "held still," and Rags jumped on her skirts. "Now, set down, 'n' see whar he'll go."
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