"Yes; and it aint the first time I've got left, neither."
With Mrs. Mason, the Ferguson Family, Lincoln Todd, and young Flaker on the tablets of my mind, I could truthfully assent to that remark.
"Still, it may be just the making of you in the long run."
"I'm not breakin' my heart over Will Axworthy; didn't care nothing 'tall 'bout him, on'y I'd got used havin' him round, and I'd have married him if he asked me. I think a sight more of his cousin."
"The boy we saw at the Fair?"
"Yes. He's written me a lovely letter. Would you mind reading it aloud to me? Some of the big words I couldn't make out, and neither could Margaret. I wrote him all myself!"
Never before had it fallen to my lot to play father confessor to a lady in love difficulties, but the editorial mind is equal to any emergency, so I let my oars slide and adjusted my reading-glasses to peruse Mary's precious epistle.
When I had read on to the signature. "Your devoted lover 'Tom,'" Mary's face was radiant.
"Aint he smart? You know he was at the Fair, reporting for a newspaper."
"That explains his glibness. Don't have anything to do with him, Mary. He's just trying to draw you on. The burnt dog should dread the fire."