Blanchard Amy Ella
Talbot's Angles

"Oh, Aunt Ri," Linda put her hand over the dear lady's lips.

"I did have a sweetheart there, when you were in the city," replied Berk, "and here she is, the only sweetheart for me."

Miss Ri pulled out her handkerchief and began to mop her eyes.

"I'm as glad as I can be," she wept, "but I am tremendously sorry for myself. You will leave me, Verlinda, and you will take Phebe, too. What am I to do?"

"Oh, it will not be for a long, long time from now," said Linda consolingly.

"Yes, it will." Miss Ri was decided. "Of course it must be. Why in the world should you wait? You will stop teaching after this year, anyway, for then you will have the farm to depend upon, while as for Berk, he is out of the woods, I know that; his mother told me so. By the way, Berk, how glad your mother will be. She fell in love with Linda at first sight. Oh, she told me a thing or two, and that's why I knew Bertie Bryan was – "

"But she wasn't, you remember," interposed Linda. "She thought so."

"It amounts to the same thing. Well, I shall have to adopt somebody. Never shall I be happy alone again, now that I know what it is to have a young thing about. I believe I will send for Jeffreys, he is mighty forlorn, and he needs coddling."

"He wouldn't come," said Berkley triumphantly.

"You mean you don't want him to; you look much better when he isn't here to give the contrast," retorted Miss Ri. "I don't want him myself, to tell the truth. See here, children, why can't you both come here and live with me till I can find an orphan who wants an Aunt Ri? I'm speaking for myself, for how I am to endure anyone's cooking after Phebe's is more than I can tell, and think of me rattling around in this big house like a dried pea in a pod. I should think you would be sorry enough for me to be ready to do anything."

Miss Ri was so very unlike a dried pea that the two laughed. "We'll talk about it some day," said Berkley, "but just now – "

"All you want is to be happy. Well," Miss Ri sighed, but immediately brightened. "Go along," she cried, "I never get mad with fools, you remember, and, as I have frequently told Verlinda, I am still thanking the Lord that I have escaped. Go along with you. My brain has about as much as it can stand."

The two stepped out upon the porch, but Miss Ri bustled after them. "Here, take this shawl, Verlinda; it is growing damp. Don't stay out too late. You'll stay to supper, Berk, of course."

"Thank you, Miss Ri. I'll be glad to come, but I must go to the office for a few moments. I'll be back, though."

The sun was dropping in the west. Day was almost done for the workers in the packing house near by, from which presently arose a burst of song. Phebe, at her kitchen door, joined in, crooning softly:

 
"I'se gwine away some o' dese days
'Cross de riber o' Jordan
My Lord, my Lord."
 

As she sang her gaze fell on the two walking slowly toward the river's brim, the man leaning over the girl, her eyes lifted to his. Suddenly Mammy clapped her hand over her mouth, then she seized her knees, bending double as she chuckled gleefully. "Ain't it de troof, now," she murmured. "She nuvver look dat away at Mr. Jeffs, I say she nuvver. Bless my honey baby." Then she lifted up her voice fairly drowning the rival singers further away as she chanted:

 
"Dis is de way I long has sought —
Oh, glory hallelujah!
And mo'ned because I found it not —
Oh, glory hallelujah!"
 

"Phebe," said Miss Ri, suddenly interrupting the singing, "we have got to have the best supper you ever cooked."

"Ain't it de troof, now, Miss Ri," Phebe responded with alacrity. "Dat's thes what I say, dat's thes what I say."

The shadows fell softly, the singers ceased their weird chant. Phebe, too busy conferring with Miss Ri to think of singing, bustled about the kitchen. Berkley and Linda walked slowly to the gate.

"Berk," said the girl, "I wouldn't live anywhere but on this blessed old Eastern Sho' for the world, would you?"

"If you were in the anywhere else, yes," he answered.

She stood at the gate watching his sturdy figure and springing step as he went off down the street. So would she stand to watch him in the years to come. It was all like a wonderful dream. The old home and the love of Berkley, what more could heaven bestow upon her!

The sun had disappeared, but a golden gleam rose and fell upon the water's surface with each pulsation of the river's heart. The venturesome crocus had shut its yellow eye, the harbinger bird had tucked its head under its wing. The world, life, love, all made a poem for Linda.

Presently Mammy came waddling down the path in breathless haste. "Miss Lindy, Miss Lindy," she panted, "Miss Ri say yuh jes' got time to come in an' put on that purty floppity white frock. She puttin' flowers on de table, an' we sho' gwine hab a fesibal dis night."

Linda turned her laughing face toward the old house, lightly ran up the path, and disappeared within the fan-topped doorway. Presently Miss Ri heard her upstairs singing:

 
"The spring has come."