“That was mere ambition,” mother said, and Aunt Phebe remarked concerning him, that he should be let alone, and to help him to be an honest man was the wisest course possible.

“So I think,” said Aunt Hildy; “common sense has got power to last a good while, and high ideas sometimes kill everything.”

Louis was enjoying the summer “hugely,” as he expressed it, and Clara was very willing to aid him in everything he undertook, and he was not an idle dreamer, for though he did dream beautifully, and talked often of the fairy land, as he called the home of his pure, good thoughts, he was a worker in all ways.  If a sudden shower threatened the meadow, he was there with the men, doing all he could to aid them, and not slow to learn the use of rake and pitchfork.  If Aunt Peg needed attention he was soon over to see her, and when he went to the village, he was the errand boy for any and all.  He became well known among us, and the dear old home among the hills gave him a hearty welcome.  Even Deacon Grover came to the conclusion that the city chap didn’t put on airs, and told me he should think I’d almost want to catch him, laughing heartily at his own words.  I always disliked this; it is a mark of a small brain to tell a story or say something witty, and crown your own talk by laughing at yourself—­that would spoil the best joke in the world for me.

One August afternoon I called Clara to the window to watch Louis and Matthias coming along slowly together in a close and evidently interesting conversation.  They came in together, and the face of our dusky friend was covered with the light of a new thought.

“Why, how happy you look!” I said.

“He feels happy,” answered Louis; “they are going to have a wedding over at Aunt Peg’s, and I am first man.”

“Yes,” said Matthias, “’pears like I kin get married now.  Miss Smith, she feels lonesome, and I bother her ‘bout my vittles, an’ we kin set by one fire jes’ as well.”

“I shall write Aunt Phebe to-morrow, and ask her,” I said, laughing.

“Um—­um,” said he, “reckon she’s ’gaged to make me two white shirts ’reddy.”

“Why, when did she know it?”

“Oh! she dunno nothing definite, but she said long ago she’d make ’em for me when I git married, an’ I done come over to see ef you’d sen’ a word about it to her.”

“I will most certainly, but how long before you will be married?”

“’Bout tree weeks, I guess; haint set on no day.  Let Miss Smith do that.”

“And you’ll have a wedding?”

“No, Miss Em’ly.  For de lan’ sake, you don’t ’spect we’s gwine into dat yere meetin’ ’ouse for de folks to call it a nigger show, duz ye?  We’s too ole to be gwine roun’ to be laf at.”

“I didn’t mean to plague you, Matthias; please excuse me,” for he looked the least bit provoked.  “I’ll make some cake, though, and you’ll want witnesses, so Louis and I can come, anyway.”