"Do you see that?" he murmured, addressing the landscape. "Do you call that handsome? because if you don't, you are a calf's-head, whatever else you may be."

Mary Sands looked up, and her bright face grew brighter at sight of him.

"Oh, Mr. Parks!" she cried. "I am glad to see you. I've been wishin' all the week you'd come by and stop in a bit. Now this is a pleasure, surely! Come right in!"

"Hold on, Miss Hands!" said Calvin, as she moved toward the door.

"Hold on just a minute. How about the tomaytoes?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'HOLD ON, MISS HANDS!' SAID CALVIN, AS SHE MOVED TOWARD THE DOOR."]

"Oh, they can wait!" said Mary. "I was just turning 'em so they'd get the sun on all sides."

"Ain't it remarkable late for tomaytoes?" asked Calvin. "I dono as ever I see ripe ones at this season. I expect you can do what you like with gardin truck, Miss Hands, same as with most things."

Mary blushed and twinkled.

"Oh, I don't know!" she answered. "I've always had good luck with late vegetables. I do suppose I've kept these tomaytoes on later than common, though; I confess I'm rather proud of them, Mr. Parks. Cousins say I tend 'em like young chickens, and I don't know but I do. I put 'em out mornings, when 'tis bright and warm like this, and take 'em in before sundown, fear they'll get chilled. Anything ripens so much better in the sun."

"I don't believe you've turned 'em all," said Calvin. "I should admire to set here a spell, if 'tis warm enough for you. I ripen better in the sun, too;" he twinkled at her. "_Is_ it warm enough for you?" he added anxiously.

"My, yes!" said Mary Sands. "Why, 'tis like summer in this bright sun, and this cellar door is warm as a stove. Well, if you're really a mind to help, Mr. Parks,--I'm sure you're more than kind."

There was plenty of room on the cellar door for them and the tomatoes.

Calvin curled up his long legs under him, and gave his attention for several minutes to the Crimson Cushions and Ponderosas, turning them with careful nicety.

"Pretty, ain't they?" he said; "some of 'em, that is."

"Real pretty!" said Mary Sands. "I do enjoy them, Mr. Parks; 'tis a kind of play with me, tending my tomaytoes. I expect I'm foolish about growin' things."

"I expect if there was more had your kind of foolishness," replied Calvin, "the world would be a better place than it is."

"See this one!" Mary went on; "for all the world like a red satin pincushion my grandmother used to have in her basket. 'Tis well named, the Crimson Cushion is."

"Look at this feller," said Calvin, "all green and yeller, and squinnied up like his co't was too tight for him. It looks like the boys; honest now, don't it, Miss Hands?"

Mary tinkled a reproachful laugh.

"Now Mr. Parks, I wonder at you. Poor Cousins!"

"I ain't takin' up no collection for the boys!" said Calvin coolly.

"Where's Sam? I see the young colt is out."

"He's gone to market; and Cousin Sims' in a dreadful takin', for fear he'll get run away with, or hove out, or something."

Calvin stared. "Why, the colt is ten year old if he is a day!" he said.

"I told him that; but he said it didn't make no odds, he'd never found out he was grown up, and acted accordin'. He werries terrible about Cousin Sam every time he goes out, and Cousin Sam werries about him. I notice it growin' on the two of 'em. Mr. Parks, I believe that down in their hearts them two are missin' each other more than tongue can tell, and neither one of them knows what's the matter with him."

"You don't say!" said Calvin. "Why don't they make up, then? Ridic'lous old lobsters!"

"They don't know how!" said Mary. "Even if they mistrust what ails 'em, and I don't believe they do as yet."

She was silent a moment, and then added: "Mr. Parks, I feel I can speak out to you, that have been their friend right along. I wish't one of Cousins would marry; there! I do so!"

Calvin Parks's face, which had been radiant with cheerfulness, turned to brown wood. He looked straight before him, with no more expression than the green tomato he held in his hand.

"That so!" he said slowly. "Which--which one of 'em would you consider best suited to matrimony, Miss Hands, if 'tisn't too much to ask?"

"I don't know as I care which it is," cried Mary, earnestly,--Calvin winced, and dropped the tomato, which rolled slowly down the cellar door and plumped into the snow,--"so long as it's one of 'em. They ought to have a woman _belongin'_ to them, Mr. Parks, as would take an interest in things because they was hers, you understand, and care for whichever one she'd marry and the other one too. They'd never ought to have been _let_ act so foolish. You see, they'd always had a woman to do for 'em, and think for 'em, and _live_ for 'em; and the minute she was gone they fell to pieces, kind of; 'tis often so with men folks," she said simply.

"They ain't calc'lated to be alone. But even now, if there was a woman belongin' to 'em, that had the right to say how things should be, I believe she could bring 'em together in no time."

There was a long silence, Mary turning tomatoes, Calvin staring straight ahead of him with the same wooden countenance. At length he cleared his throat and spoke slowly and laboriously.

"There's something in what you say, Miss Hands, and I'm bound to confess that--that I've had thoughts of something of the kind before you spoke.

But--well, we'll put it this way. Which of them two old--of them two individuals, we'll call 'em for this once--would a woman be likely to fancy? I--I should be pleased to have your opinion on that p'int."

Mary considered, turning the Crimson Cushions meanwhile with a careful hand. Calvin, misunderstanding her silence, went on.

"What I mean is--if a woman was thinkin' of matrimony--" he winced again, seeming to hear Mr. Sam's voice squeaking out the word,--"if a woman was thinkin' of matrimony, and one of them two should take her fancy more than the other--why--a person as was friendly to all concerned might try his hand in the way of helpin' to bring it about."

Mary glanced up quickly at him, but no friendly twinkle responded to her glance. Calvin's brown eyes were still dark with trouble, and he still stared moodily away from her.

"'Tis hard to say!" she replied after a pause. "Cousin Sim needs the most care."

"He does so!" said Calvin Parks. "Sim certinly needs care. And--he's a home-lovin' man, Simeon is, and sober, and honest. There's things you could find in Sim that's no worse than what you'd find in some others, I make no doubt; and--and any one would have a first-rate home, and every comfort."

"Oh! Mr. Parks, but do you think any woman _could_ make up her mind to marry Cousin Sim?" said Mary.

Calvin gave her a bewildered look, and went on, still slowly and laboriously.

"Not bein' a woman myself, ma'am, nor had any special dealin's with the s.e.x since I growed up, it ain't easy for me to form an opinion. But since you ask me honest--well--maybe not! This brings us to Sam'l. Now Sam'l is a man that has his faculties, such as they are. He has his health, and he's smart and capable. A good farmer Sam has always been, and a good manager. Careful and savin'; and there'd be the house, same as in Simeon's case. Anybody would have them a good home, and--"

"Oh! my _goodness_!" cried Mary Sands. Calvin looked up with a start, and saw her face on fire.

"What is it?" he asked, helplessly.

"Oh! don't you see?" she cried. "I was thinkin' about them, poor old things, and wishin' they might find some one; but you've shown me the other side. Mr. Parks, they never, never, _never_ could find any woman _to_ marry them!"

Calvin Parks's face was a study of bewilderment.

"I--I don't understand!" he faltered. "Do you mean that you wouldn't--couldn't--fancy either one of the boys, Miss Hands?"

"_Me_!" cried Mary Sands; "me fancy one of them!"

Involuntarily she rose to her feet; Calvin rose too, looking anxiously down at her. There was a moment of tense silence. "Do--do you _want_ me to marry one of them, Mr. Parks?" asked Mary, in a small shaking voice.

"Want you to?" cried Calvin Parks. "_Want_ you to?"