So it would appear. They sat in the parlor as if waiting for the world to come to an end—as indeed it had, one phase of it, to them. Their little girl, in a sense, was theirs no longer.
"Father, mother," said Sue, demurely, "I must break some news to you."
"It's broken already," began Mrs. Banning, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
Sue's glance renewed her reproaches for the scene on the lawn; but Minturn went promptly forward, and throwing his arm around the matron's plump shoulders, gave his first filial kiss.
"Come, mother," he said, "Sue has thought of you both; and I've given her a big promise that I won't take any more of her away than I can help. And you, sir," wringing the farmer's hand, "will often see a city tramp here who will be glad to work for his dinner. These overalls are my witness."
Then they became conscious of his absurd figure, and the scene ended in laughter that was near akin to tears.
The maple lived, you may rest assured; and Sue's children said there never was such sugar as the sap of that tree yielded.
All the hemlocks, oaks, and dogwood thrived as if conscious that theirs had been no ordinary transplanting; while Minturn's half-jesting prophecy concerning the travellers in the valley was amply fulfilled.
AN UNEXPECTED RESULT
"Jack, she played with me deliberately, heartlessly. I can never forgive her."