This took a long time,
and in getting back to the carryall he tore a triangular rent in the
back of his Sunday coat. He had donned his best clothes to be married
in, and, to add to his troubles, had left his watch in the fob-pocket of
his everyday trousers, so they had no means of knowing the time.
"That's a nice mess," he grumbled, taking off his coat to examine the
tear by the light of the lantern. "Nice-lookin' rag-bag I'll be to get
married."
"Maybe I can mend it when we get to Bayport," said Miss Parker.
"What'll you mend it with--pins?"
"No, there's a needle and thread in my reticule. Wait till we get to
Bayport and then--"
"Can't mend it in broad daylight ridin up and down the main street, can
you? And I'd look pretty shuckin' my coat in the minister's parlor for
you to patch up the holes in it. Couldn't you mend it now?"
Hannah announced her willingness to try, and the reticule being
produced, the needle was threaded after numerous trials, and the mending
began. Caleb, holding the lantern, watched the operation anxiously, his
face falling at every stitch.
"I'm afraid I haven't made a good job of it," sighed Hannah, gazing
sorrowfully at the puckered and wrinkled star in the back of the
garment. "If you'd only held that lantern steady, instead of jigglin' it
round and round so, I might have done better."
Mr. Hammond said nothing, but struggled into his coat, and picked up the
reins. He sighed, heavily, and his sigh was echoed from the back seat of
the carryall.
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