"No!—bless his old heart! How is he?—quite as foolishly angry with my father as ever, I suppose?"
"He's not all to blame for that." Miss Sallie compressed her lips. "Your father, my dear, is as good a hater as he is an editor."
"Which is going some," Marian laughed.
"Going how?" Miss Veemie asked, protestingly.
"I must say," Miss Sallie interposed, "that the Colonel has been a devoted friend to Jeb!"
"And I'm devoted to the Colonel," Marian quickly replied, as though her loyalty had been challenged. "You both know how I've deplored that quarrel—why, it started long, long before I was born, and I'm sure they've forgotten its origin!"
"Politics! Wretched politics," Miss Sallie sighed. "I've often thought, my child, how easily you might re-cement their friendship." She looked wistfully at the girl, who asked in all sincerity:
"How?"
"The Colonel is so fond of Jeb, and you are your father's only child! Can't you just fancy them clasping hands beneath a wedding bell of beautiful lilies?"
"It's easier to fancy them quarreling again the next day! No," she began to laugh delightedly, "if you're so set on having a wedding, marry them to each other; then they can fuss to their heart's content and nobody will mind. There, forgive me!" she cried, putting her arms about Miss Veemie, who was taking this seriously, and almost gasping for breath, "I was horrid to joke about it! But you mustn't let Miss Sallie put those silly thoughts on Jeb and me, really! Remember, I've been away two years—two years this very sixth of April—and see how we've both improved!"