The 10th day of June brought us a letter from Aunt Phebe with news of her marriage.

“Weddins don’t never go alone more’n funerals,” said Aunt Hildy.  “Here Miss Hungerford’s been married since February, and we’ve just heard tell of it.  Hope she’s got a good, sensible man, but ’taint likely; no two very sensible folks get very near each other, that is, for life.  She’s a good woman.  What does he do to git a livin’?”

“Teaches school,” I replied.

“Hem!” said she, “school teachers don’t generally know much else.  Eddicated men aint great on homelife; they want a monstrous sight of waitin’ on.”

“Let us hope for the best in this case,” said I.  “Here comes Matthias; he knows Mr. Dayton, I believe.”

“Yas, Miss Em’ly, I does,” said Matthias, who heard my last remark.

“Is he a nice man?”

“Um, um! reckin that jes’ hits dat man; why, de good Lord bress us ef dat man ha’nt done, like he was sent, fur de slaves, Miss Em’ly.  He knows jes’ whar dat track is,—­de down-low track, I means, whar de ‘scapin’ from de debbil comes good to dese yere people when dey gits free.  Mas’r Sumner an’ a’heap mo’ on ’em would jes’ like fur to kill dat Mas’r Dayton ef dey could cotch him.  Preaches like mad his ablishun doctrine, as he call it, an’ down on rum, sure sartin.  He works jes’ all de time fur de leas’ pay you never heard tell of.  Is he comin’ up yere?”

“I hope so, some time; but he is Aunt Phebe’s husband now, and we want to know something about him.”

“I reckin dat ye needn’t be oneasy, honey, ’bout dat, fur Miss Hungerford is ’zackly de one fur to take ker ob dat man; he’s got his head ’way up ‘mong de stars, an’ ‘way down in de figgerin’ mos’ all de time.”

“Do you mean that he is an astronomer, Matthias?”

“Dunno nothin’ ’bout dat, but he looks into de stars straight through a shiny pipe, Miss Em’ly, dat he sticks up on tree leg; an’ when dem peart fellers In dat college where dey lives, gits into figgerin whar dey’s done stuck and can’t do it no how, dey comes right down to dat man, an’ he trabbles ’em right out ob all dese yere diffikilties.  Um, um! dat man knows a heap ob dem tings.  Miss Hungerford’s all right.  ’Pears like dere’s good deal ob marryin’ roun’ de diggins.”

“You set the example,” I said, “and the rest must follow.  Louis and I expect your hearty congratulations when our day comes to step out of the world.”

“You kin ‘pend on good arnest wishes for a heap o’ comfort, Miss Em’ly, but ‘stead o’ leavin’ the world you jes’ gits into it; dunno nothin’ ‘bout livin’ till ye hev to min’ eberything yourself.  But I ’spect you’ll walk along purty happy-like, fur Mas’r Louis he’s done got hevin right in his soul, an’ you, Miss Em’ly, ’pears like you’s good enough fur him.”

And the old man stood before me like a picture, his eyes beaming with the thoughts which filled his soul, utterance to which he could not wholly give; and I thought they grew like a fire within him, and that some day, beyond the pale of human life, they would speak with force and power, and all the buds of beauty there burst into flowers of eternal loveliness.  And I said to him, as he rose to go: