"Do you like me better than Justin?" he repeated, tyrannically.
She did, but she did not like to say so.
"Go on, Hippy," he commanded. "You're dead honest now, you know."
"Yes, I do," she whispered, with hanging head.
"Kiss me," he said, unexpectedly.
She meekly embraced him, then his countenance cleared, and he vouchsafed her an explanation. "I just wanted to make sure of you, dear. This is a serious matter, and women's tongues are such delicate things that a secret trembles off them as if they were oiled. I've known a woman mad with another,—so mad that she'd vow to die rather than tell her a certain thing that would be to her interest to know, yet she'd run faster than a deer and tell her that very thing."
"Some women are as safe as a bank," observed Mrs. White, mildly.
"Yes, ma'am, and you're one of them. Listen now, till I make those plump ears of yours rustle with curiosity,—you see this newspaper?"
"Yes, Micah."
"I sent to Boston for it. What do you suppose I did that for?"