Peggy and I laughed more than was good for us those days.
It was so funny to see Aunt Olivia hovering anxiously around,
picking up flower stems, and smoothing out tidies,
and generally following him about to straighten out things.
Once she even got a wing and dustpan and swept the cigar ashes
under his very eyes.
"Now don't be worrying yourself over that, Nillie," he protested.
"Why, I don't mind a litter, bless you!"
How good and jolly he was, that Mr. Malcolm MacPherson! Such songs
as he sang, such stories as he told, such a breezy,
unconventional atmosphere as he brought into that prim
little house, where stagnant dullness had reigned for years!
He worshipped Aunt Olivia, and his worship took the concrete form
of presents galore. He brought her a present almost every visit--
generally some article of jewelry. Bracelets, rings, chains,
ear-drops, lockets, bangles, were showered upon our precise
little aunt; she accepted them deprecatingly, but never wore them.
This hurt him a little, but she assured him she would wear
them all sometimes.
"I am not used to jewelry, Mr. MacPherson," she would tell him.
Her engagement ring she did wear--it was a rather "loud" combination
of engraved gold and opals.
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