"So you wrote. Must have been a screamer to fetch dad and old Marsden. A regular Pentecost of Shinar."
"It was—I mean it was beautiful. I saw father was getting stirred up. He prayed almost all day yesterday, and at night—Well, I can't tell you, but Wallace talked, oh, so beautiful and tender."
"She calls him Wallace?" mused Herman, like a comedian.
"Hush! And then came the hand-shaking, and then the minister came home with us, because father asked him to."
"Well, well! I supposed you must have asked him."
The girl was hurt, and she showed it. "If you make fun, I won't tell you another word," she said.
"Away Chicago! enter Cyene! Well, come, I won't fool any more."
"Then after Wallace—I mean——"
"Let it stand. Come to the murder."
"Then father came and asked me to send for you, and mother cried, and so did he. And, oh, Hermie, he's so sweet and kind! Don't make fun of him, will you? It's splendid to have him give in, and everybody feels glad that the district will be all friendly again."