“Should we no do a little what you call shopping for the babies,and haf a farewell feast tonight if I go for my last call at your so pleasant home?” he asked, stopping before a window full of fruit and flowers.
“What will we buy?” asked Jo, ignoring the latter part of his speech,and sniffing the mingled odors with an affectation of delight as they went in.
“May they haf oranges and figs?” asked Mr. Bhaer, with a paternal air.
“They eat them when they can get them.”
“Do you care for nuts?”
“Like a squirrel.”
“Hamburg grapes. Yes,we shall drink to the Fatherland in those?”
Jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance,and asked why he didn’t buy a frail of dates,a cask of raisins, and a bag of almonds,and be done with it?Whereat Mr. Bhaer confiscated her purse,produced his own, and finished the marketing by buying several pounds of grapes, a pot of rosy daisies, and a pretty jar of honey, to be regarded in the light of a demijohn. Then distorting his pockets with knobby bundles, and giving her the flowers to hold, he put up the old umbrella, and they traveled on again.
“Miss Marsch, I haf a great favor to ask of you,” began the Professor,after a moist promenade of half a block.
“Yes, sir?” and Jo’s heart began to beat so hard she was afraid he would hear it.
“I am bold to say it in spite of the rain,because so short a time remains to me.”
“Yes, sir,” and Jo nearly crushed the small flowerpot with the sudden squeeze she gave it.
“I wish to get a little dress for my Tina,and I am too stupid to go alone.Will you kindly gif me a word of taste and help?”
“Yes, sir,” and Jo felt as calm and cool all of a sudden as if she had stepped into a refrigerator.
“Perhaps also a shawl for Tina’s mother,she is so poor and sick,and the husband is such a care. Yes, yes, a thick,warm shawl would be a friendly thing to take the little mother. ”
“I’ll do it with pleasure, Mr. Bhaer.” “I’m going very fast,and he’s getting dearer every minute,” added Jo to herself,then with a mental shake she entered into the business with an energy that was pleasant to behold.
Mr. Bhaer left it all to her,so she chose a pretty gown for Tina,and then ordered out the shawls. The clerk,being a married man,condescended to take an interest in the couple,who appeared to be shopping for their family.
“Your lady may prefer this. It’s a superior article,a most desirable color, quite chaste and genteel,” he said, shaking out a comfortable gray shawl,and throwing it over Jo’s shoulders.
“Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?” she asked, turning her back to him,and feeling deeply grateful for the chance of hiding her face.
“Excellently well, we will haf it,” answered the Professor,smiling to himself as he paid for it,while Jo continued to rummage the counters like a confirmed bargain-hunter.
“Now shall we go home?” he asked, as if the words were very pleasant to him.
“Yes, it’s late, and I’m _so_ tired.” Jo’s voice was more pathetic than she knew.For now the sun seemed to have gone in as suddenly as it came out,and the world grew muddy and miserable again,and for the first time she discovered that her feet were cold,her head ached, and that her heart was colder than the former,fuller of pain than the latter. Mr.Bhaer was going away,he only cared for her as a friend,it was all a mistake,and the sooner it was over the better.With this idea in her head,she hailed an approaching omnibus with such a hasty gesture that the daisies flew out of the pot and were badly damaged.
“This is not our omniboos,” said the Professor,waving the loaded vehicle away,and stopping to pick up the poor little flowers.
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t see the name distinctly.Never mind, I can walk.I’m used to plodding in the mud,” returned Jo,winking hard, because she would have died rather than openly wipe her eyes.
Mr. Bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks,though she turned her head away.The sight seemed to touch him very much,for suddenly stooping down,he asked in a tone that meant a great deal,“Heart’s dearest, why do you cry?”
Now, if Jo had not been new to this sort of thing she would have said she wasn’t crying, had a cold in her head, or told any other feminine fib proper to the occasion. Instead of which, that undignified creature answered, with an irrepressible sob, “Because you are going away.”
“Ach, mein Gott, that is so good!” cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp his hands in spite of the umbrella and the bundles, “Jo, I haf nothing but much love to gif you. I came to see if you could care for it, and I waited to be sure that I was something more than a friend. Am I?Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?” he added, all in one breath.
“Oh, yes!” said Jo, and he was quite satisfied,for she folded both hands over his arm,and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it.
It was certainly proposing under difficulties,for even if he had desired to do so, Mr.Bhaer could not go down upon his knees,on account of the mud.Neither could he offer Jo his hand,except figuratively, for both were full.Much less could he indulge in tender remonstrations in the open street,though he was near it.So the only way in which he could express his rapture was to look at her,with an expression which glorified his face to such a degree that there actually seemed to be little rainbows in the drops that sparkled on his beard. If he had not loved Jo very much, I don’t think he could have done it then, for she looked far from lovely, with her skirts in a deplorable state, her rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and her bonnet a ruin. Fortunately, Mr. Bhaer considered her the most beautiful woman living, and she found him more “Jove-like” than ever, though his hatbrim was quite limp with the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders (for he held the umbrella all over Jo), and every finger of his gloves needed mending.
Passers-by probably thought them a pair of harmless lunatics,for they entirely forgot to hail a bus,and strolled leisurely along,oblivious of deepening dusk and fog.Little they cared what anybody thought,for they were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any life,the magical moment which bestows youth on the old,beauty on the plain, wealth on the poor,and gives human hearts a foretaste of heaven.The Professor looked as if he had conquered a kingdom,and the world had nothing more to offer him in the way of bliss.While Jo trudged beside him,feeling as if her place had always been there,and wondering how she ever could have chosen any other lot.Of course, she was the first to speak—intelligibly,I mean, for the emotional remarks which followed her impetuous “Oh, yes!” were not of a coherent or reportable character.
“Friedrich, why didn’t you...”
“Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!” cried the Professor,pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful delight.
“I always call you so to myself—I forgot,but I won’t unless you like it.”
“Like it?It is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say ‘thou’,also, and I shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine. ”
“Isn’t ‘thou’ a little sentimental?” asked Jo, privately thinking it a lovely monosyllable.
“Sentimental?Yes. Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment,and keep ourselves young mit it.Your English ‘you’ is so cold, say ‘thou’,heart’s dearest, it means so much to me,” pleaded Mr.Bhaer, more like a romantic student than a grave professor.
“Well, then, why didn’t thou tell me all this sooner?” asked Jo bashfully.