Mr. Lawson’s attentions to her sister worried her exceedingly—but with Silas Johnson as the alternative, she was forced to be silent.
One morning Marion took her churn out under a big locust tree near the kitchen door and was churning vigorously when she overheard an astonishing conversation.
Silas Johnson and her father were just around the corner of the house, but neither knew of her presence or they would have spoken more guardedly.
“I’ve sed it an’ I calkerlate I’ll stick ter it,” her father said, sullenly. “Dollie shell marry yew, Sile, so yew needn’t git up yewr dander!”
“Oh, I ain’t got up no dander, Farmer Marlowe,” was the reply; “but it’s high time ther thing wuz done an’ settled, fer I’m gittin’ a leetle tired of seein’ thet thar city chap with Dollie. Yew know gals will be gals, an’ ther ain’t much dependin’ on ’em.”
“Oh, ther city chap’s a-goin’ ter-morrer ef thet’s what’s worryin’ yew,” replied the farmer, quickly. “An’ as quick’s he’s gone, I’ll hev it out with Dolly. It’s ther best thing fer her an’ she’s got ter dew it.”
“Yew kin hev them papers back on our weddin’ day,” said Silas, with a rasping chuckle.
Marion held her breath. Here was a new phase of the situation.
“Thankee, Sile, I’ll be plum’ glad tew git ’em, I kin tell yew!” said her father, sighing. “Them air dog-goned papers hez worried me like thunder, but ez yew say, it’ll be all in the fambly when yew marry Dollie.”
Marion drew a long breath and grasped the churn handle tighter. In another moment the two men rose from their seats and sauntered out to the garden, still talking seriously.