I knew that blank book well; it contained all Sara’s printed stories and verses; my eyes glanced toward it.
“Yes,” said Sara; “there it is! I gave it to him yesterday. I knew he would read it through, and I knew also that I could read his real opinion in those honest eyes of his.”
“Well?”
“There isn’t a thing in it worth the paper it is written on.”
“Oh, Sara!”
“And what is more, I have known it myself all along.”
“Is it possible he said so?”
“He? Never. He said every thing that was generous and kind and cordial and appreciative; and he gave me solid assistance, too, in the way of advice, and suggestive hints worth their weight in gold to an isolated beginner like myself. But—”
“But?”
“Yes, ‘but.’ Through it all, Martha, I could see the truth written in the sky over that old look-out tower; we were on the glacis under that tower all the time, and I never took my eyes off from it. That tower is my fate, I feel sure.”