“The large white house just across the bridge.”
“Thank you.” And we drove up to the front yard.
“Ne-ne-now, Ad, you go up and knock, and call for Miss Kingsbury; ye-ye-you know I st-stutter when I get ex-ex-cited,” said George, hitching Simon to the horse-post.
“What shall I say to her? and how shall I know Miss Kingsbury from any other lady?”
“O, ask for her. I’ll compose myself, and follow ri-right up. You’ll know her from the description I have given you. Black eyes and hair, full form—O, there is nobody else like her. Come, go up and call for her.”
“Well, I’ll go; and if I get stuck, come quickly to my rescue,” I said, turning to the house. “Is Miss Kingsbury at home?” I asked of the young lady who answered my knock. “This person is surely not Miss Jenny,” I said to myself; “cross-eyed, blue at that, and light, almost red hair.” She smiled, took a second look at me, and said,—
“Who?”
“Miss Jenny Kingsbury,” I repeated.
“Well—yes—I guess she is. Will you walk in?”
“No, thank you. Will you please call her out?” And so saying, I beckoned to George.