One day Christie received a letter from Uncle Enos expressing a wish
to see her if she cared to come so far and "stop a spell." It both
surprised and pleased her, and she resolved to go, glad that the old
man remembered her, and proud to show him the great success of her
life, as she considered Baby.
So she went, was hospitably received by the ancient cousin five
times removed who kept house, and greeted with as much cordiality as
Uncle Enos ever showed to any one. He looked askance at Baby, as if
he had not bargained for the honor of her presence; but he said
nothing, and Christie wisely refrained from mentioning that Ruth was
the most remarkable child ever born.
She soon felt at home, and went about the old house visiting
familiar nooks with the bitter, sweet satisfaction of such returns.
It was sad to miss Aunt Betsey in the big kitchen, strange to see
Uncle Enos sit all day in his arm-chair too helpless now to plod
about the farm and carry terror to the souls of those who served
him. He was still a crabbed, gruff, old man; but the narrow, hard,
old heart was a little softer than it used to be; and he sometimes
betrayed the longing for his kindred that the aged often feel when
infirmity makes them desire tenderer props than any they can hire.
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