This is the way
that Bob first got out there, and won them all, and "shaped the thing"
for me, as he would put it; and lastly, we had lugged in Billy,--such
a handy boy, you know, to hold the horses on picnic excursions, and to
watch the carriage and the luncheon, and all that.--"Yes, and," Bob
would say, "such a serviceable boy in getting all the fishing tackle
in proper order, and digging bait, and promenading in our wake up and
down the creek all day, with the minnow-bucket hanging on his arm,
don't you know!"
But jolly as the days were, I think jollier were the long evenings at
the farm. After the supper in the grove, where, when the weather
permitted, always stood the table, ankle-deep in the cool green plush
of the sward; and after the lounge upon the grass, and the cigars, and
the new fish stories, and the general invoice of the old ones, it was
delectable to get back to the girls again, and in the old "best room"
hear once more the lilt of the old songs and the stacattoed laughter
of the piano mingling with the alto and falsetto voices of the Mills
girls, and the gallant soprano of the dear girl Doc.
This is the scene I want you to look in upon, as, in fancy, I do
now--and here are the materials for it all, husked from the gilded
roll:
Bob, the master, leans at the piano now, and Doc is at the keys, her
glad face often thrown up sidewise toward his own.
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