"Why, Evelina Shelby, you darling thing, when did you come?" she fairly
bubbled, as she clasped me in the most hospitable of arms, and bestowed
a slightly powdery kiss on both my cheeks. I weakly and femininely
enjoyed the hug, not that a man might not have--Sallie is a dear, and I
always did like her gush, shamefacedly.
"She got often that train that left us, and she ain't got a bit of
sense, or she wouldn't," answered the Blue Bunch for me, in a
matter-of-fact tone of voice.
"What for did you all unpack outen the surrey, if you sawed the train go
by?" she further demanded, with accusing practicality. "Don't you know
when youse left?"
"Oh, Henrietta," exclaimed Sallie, looking at the young-philosopher with
terrified helplessness. "Please don't mind her, Evelina. I don't
understand her being my child, and nobody does, unless it was Henry's
grandmother on his mother's side. You had heard of my loss?"
If I hadn't heard of the death of Henry Carruthers, Sallie's elaborate
black draperies, relieved by the filmy exquisiteness of white crepe
ruches at the neck and wrists, would have proclaimed the fact.
Suddenly, something made me look at Cousin James, as he stood calmly in
the midst of Sallie's family and baggage, both animate and inanimate,
and the laugh that had threatened for minutes fairly flared out into his
placid, young prophet face.
"Oh, I am so sorry, Sallie, and so glad to see all of you that I'm
laughing at the same time," I exclaimed to save myself from the
awfulness of greeting a young widow's announcement of her sorrow in such
an unfeeling manner.
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