Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

“ She made calls in that fine black silk and white-plumed wedding bonnet. It seemed at times as if she were fairly running after her trouble; she did more than look it in the face.
It was in February, when Delia had been teaching her new school nearly two terms, that Olive Briggs left town. People said she had given up work and gone home to get ready to be married.
Delia's mother heard of it, and told her. “I should think she'd be awful afraid he wouldn't come to the weddin',” she said, bitterly.
“So should I,” assented Delia. She echoed everybody's severe remarks about Lawrence. ”

“ The young girl shrank over to the table, snatched up the toilette set and mats, and fled to her mother.
When they were all gone, David Thayer approached Delia. He had been sitting on a chair by the bedroom door, holding his head in his hands.
“I'm goin' now,” said he. “If there's anything I can do, you let me know.”
“There won't be anything,” said Delia. “I shall get along all right.”
He shook her hand hard in his old trembling one. “You're more of a man than Lawrence is,” said he. He was a very old man, and his voice, although it was still deep, quavered. ”

“ People kept close watch over Lawrence and Olive and Delia. Lawrence was subjected to a mild species of ostracism by a certain set of the village girls, Delia's mates—honest, simple young souls; they would not speak to him on the street. They treated Olive with rough, rural stiffness when they traded with her in the one milliner's shop. She was an out-of-town girl, and had always been regarded with something of suspicion. These village women had a strong local conservatism. They eyed strangers long before they admitted them. ”

“ He was still very young. Delia was two years older than he, and looked ten. Still, Lawrence seemed as old in some respects. He was a quiet, shy young man, who liked to stay at home with his parents, and never went about much with the young people. Before Olive came he had seldom spoken to any girl besides Delia. They had been together soberly and steadily ever since their school-days.
Some people said now, “Don't you suppose Lawrence Thayer will go with Delia again?” But the answer always was, “She won't look at him.” ”

“ Mrs. Caldwell changed her tone suddenly. She began to cry weakly. “Oh, Delia, you poor child, what will you do?” she sobbed.
“It isn't going to do any good to go on so, mother.”
“There's all them folks out there. Oh dear! What will they say? I wouldn't care so much if it wa'n't for all them Thayers an' Caldwells. They'll jest crow. Oh dear! you poor child!”
Delia turned to Mr. Thayer. “Somebody ought to tell them,” said she, “that—there won't be any—wedding.”
“Oh, Delia, how can you take it so calm?” wailed her mother. ”

“ There was a large, white-headed old man with him, who drew the larger share of attention. He got lumberingly out of the buggy when Hiram drew rein at the gate. Then he proceeded up the gravel-walk to the house. The people stood back and stared. No one dared speak to him except Mrs. Erastus Thayer. She darted before him in the path; her brown silk skirts swished,
“Mr. Thayer,” cried she, “what is the matter? Do tell us! What has happened?”
“Where's Delia?” said the old man.
“Oh, she's in the bedroom out of the parlor, She 'ain't been out yet. Mr. Thayer, for mercy's sake, what is the matter? ”

“ Even these people would not think that. They would not, indeed, believe him capable of it. The system of terrible but coolly calculated ventures for success was one with which this man would not be likely to grapple. ”