Uncle Abner
"Is he alone?" said Abner.
"Alone," she said, with a satirical smile, "as a bridegroom ought to be for his last reflections."
"Then," replied my uncle, "I will strike the bargain."
She laughed in a heavy chuckle, like a man.
"Hold him if you can. It will be a pretty undertaking, Abner, and practice for your wits. But by stealth it shall be. I will not have you bind the bridegroom like the strong man in the Scriptures." And the chuckle deepened. "And that, too, I think, might be no easier than the finesse you set at. He is a great man in the body, like yoursel'."
She stood up to go out, but before she went, she said another word.
"Abner," she said, "you will not blame me," and her voice was calm. "Somebody must think a little for these pretty fools. They are like the lilies of the field in their lack of wisdom; they will always bloom, and there is no winter! Why, man, they have no more brain than a haggis! And what are their little loves against the realities of life? And their tears, Abner, are like the rains in summer, showering from every cloud. And their heads crammed with folderol—a prince will come, and they cannot take a good man for that dream!" She paused and added:
"I will go and send for Rufus. And when you have finished with your dinner, MacPherson will take you in to Campbell."
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