“I guess whoever made that shirt calkilated ‘t would do for a weddin’ one,” said old Aunt Betty Green, and Thomas made an exclamation and went out of the room, tingling all over with shame and disgust.

“Thomas don’t act nateral,” said the old woman, glancing after him through her iron-bound spectacles.

“I dun’no’ what’s got into him,” returned his mother.

“Mebbe they foller him up a leetle too close,” said Aunt Betty.  “I dun’no’ as I should have ventured on a shirt when I was a gal.  I made a satin vest once for Joshua, but that don’t seem quite as p’inted as a shirt.  It didn’t scare Joshua, nohow.  He asked me to have him the next week.”

“Well, I dun’no’,” said Mrs. Merriam again.  “I kind of wish Thomas would settle on somebody, for I’m pestered most to death with ’em, an’ I feel as if ‘t was kind of mean takin’ all these things into the house.”

“They’ve ’bout kept ye in sweet cake, ’ain’t they, lately?”

“Yes; but I don’t feel as if it was jest right for us to eat it up, when ’t was brought for Thomas.  But he won’t touch it.  I can’t see as he has the least idee of any one of them.  I don’t believe Thomas has ever seen anybody he wanted for a wife.”

“Well, he’s got the pick of ’em, a-settin’ their caps right in his face,” said Aunt Betty.

Neither of them dreamed how the young man, sleeping and eating and living under the same roof, beloved of them since he entered the world, holding himself coldly aloof from this crowd of half-innocently, half-boldly ardent young women, had set up for himself his own divinity of love, before whom he consumed himself in vain worship.  His father suspected, and that was all, and he never mentioned the matter again to his son.

After Thomas had spoken to Evelina the weeks went on, and they never exchanged another word, and their eyes never met.  But they dwelt constantly within each other’s thoughts, and were ever present to each other’s spiritual vision.  Always as the young minister bent over his sermon-paper, laboriously tracing out with sputtering quill his application of the articles of the orthodox faith, Evelina’s blue eyes seemed to look out at him between the stern doctrines like the eyes of an angel.  And he could not turn the pages of the Holy Writ unless he found some passage therein which to his mind treated directly of her, setting forth her graces like a prophecy.  “The fairest among women,” read Thomas Merriam, and nodded his head, while his heart leaped with the satisfied delight of all its fancies, at the image of his love’s fair and gentle face.  “Her price is far above rubies,” read Thomas Merriam, and he nodded his head again, and saw Evelina shining as with gold and pearls, more precious than all the jewels of the earth.  In spite of all his efforts, when Thomas Merriam studied the Scriptures in those days he was more nearly touched by those old human hearts which throbbed down to his through the ages, welding the memories of their old loves to his living one until they seemed to prove its eternity, than by the Messianic prophecies.  Often he spent hours upon his knees, but arose with Evelina’s face before his very soul in spite of all.