Rose hoped he would.
The older women had talked matters over also in their grave, prudent woman’s way, and both learned from the brightness in Julia’s face and eyes, that the ramble in the woods had been pleasant. On their way home Julia described it all to her mother.
They drove around by way of Mrs. Ridgeley’s, and found her busy and cheerful. She had a letter from Bart full of cheerful encouragement, and the Colonel had returned, and would remain in Newbury for the present.
Julia caught George and this time actually kissed the blushing, half-angry, yet really pleased boy.
The next day Mrs. Ridgeley visited the graves of her husband and son, on her way from her friend Mrs. Punderson’s, and was touched by the evidences of a watchful care that marked them. At the head of Henry’s grave was planted a beautiful rose tree, full of buds, and a few wild flowers lay withered among the green grass springing so freshly over him. The mother wondered what hand performed this pious act. Like Bart, she supposed that some gentle maiden thus evinced her tenderness for his memory, and was very anxious to know who she was.
The sun drank up the waters out of Jefferson, and the almanac brought the day for the May term of the Court for Ashtabula county; came the Judge, the juries and unfortunate parties; came also some twenty lawyers, from the various points of North-eastern Ohio. It was to be a great time for our young students. Bart had seen the Court once or twice at Chardon, and had heard the advocates in the famous case of Ohio vs. Joe Smith, the Mormon Prophet, for conspiring to murder Newell, and came to know some of them by name and sight. The same judge presided on that trial as in the present court—Judge Humphrey. Bart was much interested of course in the proceedings, and observed them attentively from the opening proclamation, the calling and swearing of the grand jury, calling of the calendar of cases, etc. Much more interested was he in Case’s graphic sketches of the members of the bar, who hit them off, well or ill, with a few words.
“That elderly man, shortish, with the soft, autumn-like face, is Elisha Whittlesey, sixteen years in Congress; where he never made a speech, but where he ranks with the most useful members: sober colors that wear. He was a good lawyer, and comes back to practice. The old men will employ him, and wonder why they get beaten.”
“That brisk, cheery, neat man by his side is Norton—lively, smirky and smiling—you see the hair leaves the top of his head, to lay the fact bare that there is not much there; and just why that snubby little nose should perk itself up, I can’t tell, unless to find out whether there really is anything above it. He has quite a reputation with juries, and a tendency to bore, sometimes in very dry places, for water, and usually furnishes his own moisture. When he isn’t damp he is funny. They both live in Canfield.”