He loved to have me with him, as he worked, and told me odd tales and seemed to enjoy my prattle.  I often saw him stand with rough fingers stirring his beard, just beginning to show a sprinkle of white, while he looked down at me as if struck with wonder at something I had said.

“Come and give me a kiss, Bub,” he would say.  As he knelt down, I would run to his arms and I wondered why he always blinked his gray eyes after he had kissed me.

He was a bachelor and for a singular reason.  I have always laid it to the butternut trousers—­the most sacred bit of apparel of which I have any knowledge.

“What have you got on them butternut trousers for?” I used to hear Aunt Deel say when he came down-stairs in his first best clothes to go to meeting or “attend” a sociable—­those days people just went to meeting but they always “attended” sociables—­“You’re a wearin’ `em threadbare, ayes!  I suppose you’ve sot yer eyes on some one o’ the girls.  I can always tell—­ayes I can!  When you git your long legs in them butternut trousers I know you’re warmin’ up—­ayes!”

I had begun to regard those light brown trousers with a feeling of awe, and used to put my hand upon them very softly when uncle had them on.  They seemed to rank with “sofys,” albums and what-nots in their capacity for making trouble.

Uncle Peabody rarely made any answer, and for a time thereafter Aunt Deel acted as if she were about done with him.  She would go around with a stern face as if unaware of his presence, and I had to keep out of her way.  In fact I dreaded the butternut trousers almost as much as she did.

Once Uncle Peabody had put on the butternut trousers, against the usual protest, to go to meeting.

“Ayes! you’ve got ’em on ag’in,” said Aunt Deel.  “I suppose your black trousers ain’t good ’nough.  That’s ‘cause you know Edna Perry is goin’ to be there—­ayes!”

Edna Perry was a widow of about his age who was visiting her sister in the neighborhood.

Aunt Deel wouldn’t go to church with us, so we went off together and walked home with Mrs. Perry.  As we passed our house I saw Aunt Deel looking out of the window and waved my hand to her.

When we got home at last we found my aunt sitting in her armchair by the stove.

“You did it—­didn’t ye?—­ayes,” she demanded rather angrily as we came in.

“Done what?” asked Uncle Peabody.

“Shinin’ up to that Perry woman—­ain’t ye?—­ayes!  I see you’re bound to git married—­ayes!”

I had no idea what it meant to get married but I made up my mind that it was something pretty low and bad.  For the moment I blamed Uncle Peabody.

Aunt Deel’s voice and manner seemed to indicate that she had borne with him to the limit of her patience.

“Delia,” said my uncle, “I wouldn’t be so—­”

Again he checked himself for fear of going too far, I suppose.

“My heart! my heart!” Aunt Deel exclaimed and struggled to her feet sobbing, and Uncle Peabody helped her to the lounge.  She was so ill the rest of the day that my uncle had to go for the doctor while I bathed her forehead with cold water.