Jacob looked perplexed, but said nothing.
"Becky will help what she can, and while I'm in the kitchen she'll
have an eye to things outside," she said.
Jacob's head was down again, and, moreover, turned on one side, but
his ear betrayed the mounting blood. Finally he answered, in a
quick, husky voice: "Well, I'll do what I can. What's first?"
Thereupon he began to carry some benches from the veranda to a
grassy bank beside the sycamore-tree. Ann Pardon wisely said no
more of the coming surprise-party, but kept him so employed that,
as the visitors arrived by twos and threes, the merriment was in
full play almost before he was aware of it. Moreover, the night
was a protecting presence: the moonlight poured splendidly upon the
open turf beyond the sycamore, but every lilac-bush or trellis of
woodbine made a nook of shade, wherein he could pause a moment and
take courage for his duties. Becky Morton, Ann Pardon's youngest
sister, frightened him a little every time she came to consult
about the arrangement of seats or the distribution of refreshments;
but it was a delightful, fascinating fear, such as he had never
felt before in his life.
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