"You would think every day Sunday if you had had as good a time as I

have for six weeks."

"The doctor does say you're doing beautifully. I asked him yesterday

how soon you would be well and he said you never had been so well since

he knew you. But what is to-morrow?"

"Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving, indeed! Yes, every day is Thanksgiving for us. But

it's not especially that."

"Christmas."

"Nonsense! To-morrow is the second anniversary of our engagement."

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"My Lord, Gertrude, have we been engaged two years? Why, at that rate

I can't possibly marry you till I'm forty-four."

"It isn't two years, it's two months. And to-night they have their

memorial services for poor Paddy McGraw. And, do you know, your friend

Mr. Foley has our engine now? Yes; he came up the other day to ask

about you, but in reality to tell me he had been promoted. I think he

ought to have been, after I spoke myself to Mr. Archibald about it.

But what touched me was, the poor fellow asked if I wouldn't see about

getting some flowers for the memorial at the engineer's lodge

to-night--and he didn't want his wife to know anything about it,

because she would scold him for spending his money--see what you are

coming to! So I suggested he should let me provide his flowers and

ours together, and when I tried to find out what he wanted, he asked if

a throttle made of flowers would be all right."

"Your heart would not let you say no?"

"I told him it would be lovely, and to leave it all to me."

She brought forward the box she was opening. "See how they have laid

this throttle-bar of violets across these Galax leaves--and latched it

with a rose. Here, Solomon," she exiled the boy from an adjoining

room, "take this very carefully. No. There isn't any card. Oh," she

exclaimed, as he left, and she clasped her lifted hands, "I am glad, I

am glad we are leaving these mountains. Do you know papa is to be here

to-morrow? And that your speech must be ready? He isn't going to give

his consent without being asked."

"I suppose not," said Glover, dejectedly.

"What are you going to say?"

"I shall say that I consider him worthy of my confidence and esteem."

"I think you would make more headway, dearest, if you should tell him

you considered yourself worthy of his confidence and esteem."

"But, hang it, I don't."

"Well, couldn't you, for once, fib a little? Oh, Ab; I'll tell you

what I wish you could do."

"Pray what?"

"Talk a little business to him. I feel sure, if you could only talk

business awhile, papa would be all right."

"Business! If it's only a question of talking business, the thing's as

good as done. I can't talk anything but business."




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