“It’s longer, and slenderer, and whiter, and even more beautiful,” said he, “than the little hand I cut; but it was then the most beautiful hand in the world to me—and still is.”
“I must light the lamps,” said the county superintendent-elect, rather flustered, it must be confessed. “Mama! Where are all the matches?”
Mrs. Woodruff and Mrs. Irwin came in, and the lamplight reminded Jim’s mother that the cow was still to milk, and that the chickens might need attention. The Woodruff sleigh came to the door to carry them home; but Jim desired to breast the storm. He felt that he needed the conflict. Mrs. Irwin scolded him for his foolishness, but he strode off into the whirling drift, throwing back a good-by for general consumption, and a pathetic smile to Jennie.
“He’s as odd as Dick’s hatband,” said Mrs. Woodruff, “tramping off in a storm like this.”
“Did you line him up?” asked the colonel of Jennie.
The young lady started and blushed. She had forgotten all about the politics of the situation.
“I—I’m afraid I didn’t, papa,” she confessed.
“Those brown mice of Professor Darbishire’s,” said the colonel, “were the devil and all to control.”
Jennie was thinking of this as she dropped asleep.
“Hard to control!” she thought. “I wonder. I wonder, after all, if Jim is not capable of being easily lined up—when he sees how foolish I think he is!”