The reader cannot peruse any one of these sixteen tales without feeling its atmosphere and being transported for the moment into the very presence of the characters in the story. There is an exquisite flavor about these tales that is like a whiff of the scents from an old-fashioned flower garden.
n' I'm goin' to keep on sendin' jest as long as I'm above ground. An' I've made my will an' provided for him."
His voice had a fractious tone, as if he combated an unseen tyrant. Amelia dared not speak. At a word, she felt, he might say too much. Now Jared was looking at her in a bright appeal, as if, sure as he was of her sympathy, he besought the expression of it.
"There ain't a soul but you knows I've made my will, 'Melia," he said. "There's suthin' in it for you, too."
Amelia shrank, and her eyes betrayed her terror; it was as if she could carry on their relation together quite happily, but as soon as the judgment of the world were challenged she must hide it away, like a treasure in a box.
"No, Jared!" she breathed. "No, oh, no! Don't you do such a thing as that."
Jared laughed a little, but half sadly.
"Seems kinder queer to me now," he owned, "now I see you settin' here, only to put out your hand an' take a thing if you want it. Did Rufus leave a will?"
