“Are folks always so sober, when they’ve had a change of heart?” he asked, with his pleasant smile.

“They are, when they’ve had a change of face,” I was going to say; but just then mother came in with her bundle of yarn, and Lurindy came down, and there was such a deal of welcoming and talking, that I slipped round and laid the table and had the tea made before they thought of it.  I’d about made up my mind now that Stephen would act as if nothing had happened, and pretend to like me just the same, because he was so tender-hearted and couldn’t bear to hurt my feelings nor anybody’s; and I’d made up my mind, too, that, as soon as he gave me a chance, I’d tell him I was set against marriage:  leastwise, I wouldn’t have him, because I wouldn’t have any man marry me out of pity; and the more I cared for him, the more I couldn’t hamper an ugly face on him forever.  So, you see, I had quite resolved, that, cost me what it would, I’d say ‘No,’ if Stephen asked me.  Well, it’s a very good thing to make resolutions; but it’s a great deal better to break them, sometimes.

Having come to my conclusions, I grew as merry as any of them; and when mother put two spoons into Stephen’s cup, I told him he was going to have a present.  And he said he guessed he knew what it was; and I said it must be a mitten, I’d heard that Martha Smith had taken to knitting lately; and he confounded Martha Smith.  Mother and Lurindy were very busy talking about the yarn, and how Mr. Fisher wanted the next socks knit; and Stephen asked me what that dish was beside me.  I said, it was lemon-pie, and the top-crust was made of kisses, and would he have some?  And he said, he didn’t care for anybody’s kisses but mine, and he believed he wouldn’t.  And I told him the receipt of this came from the Queen’s own kitchen.  And he said, he didn’t know that the Queen of England was any better than the Queen of Hearts.  Then I said, I supposed he remembered how the latter lady was served by the Knave of Hearts in ‘Mother Goose’?  And he replied, that he wasn’t going to be Jack-at-a-pinch for anybody.  And so on, till mother finished tea.

After tea, I sat up to the table and ended some barley-trimming that I’d just learned how to make; and as the little kernels came tumbling out from under my fingers, Stephen sat beside and watched them as if it was a field of barley, growing, reaped, and threshed under his eyes.  By-and-by I finished it; and then, rummaging round in the table-drawer, I found the sock that I was knitting, waiting at the very stitch where I left it, ’most a year ago.

“Well, if that isn’t lucky!” said I. And I sat down on a stool by the fireside, determined to finish that sock that night; and no sooner had I set the needles to dancing, like those in the fairy-story, than open came the kitchen-door again, and in, out of the dark, stepped Aunt Mimy.

“Good-evenin’, Miss Ruggles!” says she.  “Heow d’ ye du, Emerline? hope yer gwine ter stay ter hum a spell.  Why, Stephen, ’s this you?  Quite a femily-party, I declare fur’t!  Wai, Miss Ruggles, I got kind o’ tired settin’ in the dark, an’, ez I looked out an’ see the dips blazin’ in yer winder, thinks I, I’ll jest run up an’ see w’at’s ter pay.”