“Your affectionate son, John Millet.”
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hall,” said one of the old lady’s neighbors; “here is the book you lent me. I am much obliged to you for it. I like it better than any book I have read for a long while. You said truly that if I once began it, I should not lay it down till I had finished it.”
“Yes,” said the old lady, “I don’t often read a book now-a-days; my eyes are not very strong, (blue eyes seldom are, I believe,” said she, fearing lest her visitor should suspect old Time had been blurring them;) “but that book, now, just suits me; there is common-sense in it. Whoever wrote that book is a good writer, and hope she will give us another just like it. ‘Floy’ is a queer name; I don’t recollect ever hearing it before. I wonder who she is.”
“So do I,” said the visitor; “and what is more, I mean to find out. Oh, here comes Squire Dana’s son; he knows everything. I’ll ask him. Yes, there he comes into the gate; fine young man Mr. Dana. They do say he’s making up to Sarah Jilson, the lawyer’s daughter; good match, too.”
“Good afternoon,” said both the ladies in a breath; “glad to see you, Mr. Dana; folks well? That’s right. We have just been saying that you could tell us who ‘Floy,’ the author of that charming book, ‘Life Sketches,’ really is.”
“You are inclined to quiz me,” said Mr. Dana. “I think it should be you who should give me that information.”
“Us?” exclaimed both the old ladies; “us? we have not the slightest idea who she is; we only admire her book.”