Why, Solon
Slade, you ain't walked way over to Tiverton Street!"
"Yes, I have," asserted Solon. He was a slender, sad-colored man,
possibly of her own age, and he spoke in a very soft voice. He was
Susan's widowed brother-in-law, and the neighbors said he was clever,
but hadn't no more spunk 'n a wet rag.
Susan had risen and laid down her knitting. She approached the table
and rested one hand on it, a hawk-like brightness in her eyes.
"What you got in that bag?" asked she.
Solon was enjoying his certainty that he held the key to the situation.
"I got a mite o' cheese," he answered, approaching the fire and
spreading his hands to the blaze.
"You got anything else? Now, Solon, don't you keep me here on
tenter-hooks! You got a letter?"
"Well," said Solon, "I thought I might as well look into the
post-office an' see."
"You thought so! You went a-purpose! An' you walked because you al'ays
was half shackled about takin' horses out in bad goin'. You hand me
over that letter!"
Solon approached the table, a furtive twinkle in his blue eyes. He
lifted the bag and opened it slowly. First, he took out a wedge-shaped
package.
"That's the cheese," said he. "Herb."
"My land!" ejaculated Miss Susan, while the schoolmaster looked on and
smiled.
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