I declare,
she reminds me of a Jack-o'-lantern, though if you look at the back
of her, or see her in meetin' with a thick veil on, she's about the
best appearin' woman in Edgewood . . . I never seen anybody stiffen
up as Anthony has. He had me make him three white shirts and three
gingham ones, with collars and cuffs on all of 'em. It seems as if
six shirts at one time must mean something out o' the common!"
Aunt Hitty was right; it did mean something out of the common. It
meant the growth of an all-engrossing, grateful, divinely tender
passion between two love-starved souls. On the one hand, Lyddy, who
though she had scarcely known the meaning of love in all her dreary
life, yet was as full to the brim of all sweet, womanly possibilities
of loving and giving as any pretty woman; on the other, the blind
violin maker, who had never loved any woman but his mother, and who
was in the direst need of womanly sympathy and affection.
Anthony Croft, being ministered unto by Lyddy's kind hands, hearing
her sweet voice and her soft footstep, saw her as God sees, knowing
the best; forgiving the worst, like God, and forgetting it, still
more like God, I think.
And Lyddy? There is no pen worthy to write of Lyddy. Her joy lay
deep in her heart like a jewel at the bottom of a clear pool; so deep
that no ripple or ruffle on the surface could disturb the hidden
treasure. If God had smitten these two with one hand, he had held
out the other in tender benediction.
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