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Updated: May 13, 2025
It was such joy to remember, too, that it was merely the beginning of an eternity of those soft endearments! it remade the world; and all things, even those most week-a-day and commonplace, came upon him in colors so new and strange and rich and sweet touched as they were with this transforming light of Dorothy's love!
A common, every-day, week-a-day pie, or even a Sunday pie, would be bad enough, but a Thanksgiving pie of all things. Why, everybody is happy at Thanksgiving. Well, not quite everybody, it seems, because if that was so Letty wouldn't be crying. Now let me tell you why poor Letty Bascombe, with her sunny temper, cried on this day while she was making pies.
"I'm right down pleased to meet you, Mistress Blythe; and I hope you'll be as happy as the first bride was who came here. I can't wish you no better than THAT. But your husband doesn't introduce me jest exactly right. 'Captain Jim' is my week-a-day name and you might as well begin as you're sartain to end up calling me that. You sartainly are a nice little bride, Mistress Blythe.
A poor woman, who is in great trouble about her son, heard him preach last Sunday, and felt that she would give anything to have a quiet talk with him about her sorrow, and kneel with him as he commended both her and her wayward boy to the Throne of the heavenly grace. But she dreads to be caught in the whirl of his week-a-day flurry, and stays away, her grief eating her heart out the while.
I counts upon my fingers. When they be used up, I begins upon my buttons. I ha'n't got no buttons visible that is 'pon my week-a-day clothes; so I keeps the long sums for Sundays, and adds 'em up and down my weskit during sermon. Don't tell any person." "I won't." "That's right. I don't want it known. Ever see a gipsy?" "Oh, yes often."
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