“Going on fifty-one. Sh-sh—” Amy replied, her “sh-sh’s” being more decided as baby showed signs of waking.
Johnnie had learned what he wished to know, and bidding Mrs. Bowles good morning, he ran home, repeating to himself:
“Turned thirty,—going on fifty-one. Ought from one is one, three from five is two. That makes twenty-one. Most twenty,—most forty-one. Ought from one is one, two from four is two. That makes twenty-one. Jemima! It’ll do, it’ll do!” and Johnnie ran on with all his might till he reached home, where he found Jessie, whom he astonished with a hug which almost strangled her.
“It will do! it will do!” he exclaimed, as he kissed her, and when she asked what would do, he answered, “I know, I know, but I shan’t tell!” and he darted off, big with the important thing which he knew and should not tell.
That night, as Squire Russell sat in his library, Johnnie came in and startled him with the question:
“Father, who will take care of us when Aunt Dora is gone? Her new house will be done in September.”
“I don’t know, my son;” and the Squire laid down his paper, for the question which Johnnie asked had also been troubling him.
There was silence a moment, during which Johnnie almost twisted a button from his jacket, and then he broke out abruptly:
“Why don’t you get married?”
“Married! To whom?” the Squire exclaimed; and Johnnie replied: