"Parson do look crosser than a wet hen."
Then too Rivers's laugh set free her mirth, and Ann Penhallow laughed as
she had not done for many a day. "That is about my condition," said
Rivers. "I shall go home and get into dry clothes. Billy, you're a poet."
"Don't like nobody to call me names," grunted Billy.
"I wish James had heard that," cried Ann, while Rivers gathered up the
remains of his umbrella.
As Billy drove away, Mrs. Penhallow called back, "You will come to dinner
to-day?"
"Thank you, but not to-day."
As Ann came down the stairs to the hall, Penhallow was in the man's
attitude, with his back to the fire. Leila with a hand on the mantel and
a foot on the fender was talking to her uncle, an open letter in her
hand. Ann heard him say, "That was in October"--and then--"Why this must
be a month old!"
"It must have been delayed. He wrote a note after the fight at Belmont,
and that was in October. He did write once since then, but it was hardly
worth sending. As a letter writer, John is rather a failure, but this is
longer." She laughed gaily as she spread open the letter.
"He has got a new hero, uncle--General Grant. John is strong on
heroes--he began with you."
"Stuff and nonsense," said the Squire. "Read it."
Leila hesitated.
"Oh, let's hear it," cried her aunt.
Pages:
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405