Why just think"--with a quiet smile--"John said
last night that he couldn't tell my biscuits from yours. And wasn't
the dinner all right to-day? And isn't that a beautiful patch?" She
held up her work for inspection.
The other shook her head, while she smiled in answer. "I know, dear
girl, you do beautifully; but that's not it. There is your father and
mother and brother; you know you can't stay away from them always."
Amy's face grew troubled, while her hand nervously sought the letter
hidden in her bosom. "You do not understand, mother," she replied
slowly; "My people do not want me to come home. My father said I should
not, until--until--" she hesitated.
"But your father has surely forgotten his anger by this time, and when
he sees you he will be glad to forgive and take you back."
The brown eyes looked at her in startled surprise. "When he sees me?"
But the other continued hurriedly, "And there are the letters you
know."
Amy's face grew rosy. "Why the letters?" she murmured in a low voice.
"Because he loves you, dear, don't you see?"
"He has never told me so."
"Not in words perhaps."
Amy was silent.
"He will come for you one of these days and then you will go with him."
The girl sadly shook her head, and turning her face, looked away across
the fields again, where silent, patient John sturdily followed his
team.
The shadow of the big sycamore was stretching across the barn lot
almost to the gate, where the cows stood watching for the boy to come
and let them in; a troop of droning bees were paying their last visit
for the day to the peach-tree, that flung its wealth of passionate
blossoms almost within reach of the porch, and over the blue distant
woods the last of the feathery banks of mist hung lazily, as though
tangled in the budding branches, reluctant to say good-night.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271