She
waved a mittened hand to Amelia when their eyes met, and her heavy face
broke up into smiles.
"Here I be!" she called in a thick, gurgling voice, as Amelia hastened
out, her apron thrown over her head. "Didn't expect me, did ye? Nobody
looks for an old rheumatic creatur'. She's more out o' the runnin' 'n a
last year's bird's-nest."
"Why, aunt Ann!" cried Amelia, in unmistakable joy. "I'm tickled to
death to see you. Here, Amos, I'll help get her out."
The driver, a short, thick-set man of neutral, ashy tints and a
sprinkling of hair and beard, trudged round the oxen and drew the
rocking-chair forward without a word. He never once looked in Amelia's
direction, and she seemed not to expect it; but he had scarcely laid
hold of the chair when aunt Ann broke forth:--
"Now, Amos, ain't you goin' to take no notice of 'Melia, no more'n if
she wa'n't here? She ain't a bump on a log, nor you a born fool"
Amos at once relinquished his sway over the chair, and stood looking
abstractedly at the oxen, who, with their heads low, had already fallen
into that species of day-dream whereby they compensate themselves for
human tyranny. They were waiting for Amos, and Amos, in obedience to
some inward resolve, waited for commotion to cease.
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