Donald took his lecture very meekly, knowing well that he deserved it, but still doubtful of Marie-Celeste's boasted ability in the secret-keeping line.
“Cousin Ted has more confidence in me than you, Donald,” still exercising her mind-reading proclivities. “He's asked me to tell the Hartleys all about him this very day. He doesn't want any unnecessary secrets kept any longer, and you're to take Harold off somewhere while I tell them.”
“It seems to me Ted ought to tell them himself,” said Donald, shaking his head in disapproval; for you see he really feared that Ted lacked the necessary courage, although he could understand how much it must mean to him to have the Hartleys realize that he had such a good friend as Marie-Celeste at court. But Donald afterward exonerated Ted from any lack of courage, and was of course delighted when he found that she had pleaded his cause so eloquently as to convince even the old keeper that Ted was fully justified in the course he had thought best to pursue.
Never was fairy tale listened to with more rapt attention than Marie-Celeste's narration of the ups and downs of Ted's life as she knew them, and never was heart more gladly grateful than hers when she realized that these good friends were more than willing, for the sake of the end in view, to condone the deception practised upon them. It is such a fine thing when people show themselves fair-minded and reasonable under circumstances that put their fair-mindedness to so much of a test.
“Well, well, well, it's a queer world,” said old Mr. Hartley, resting his elbows on his knees, and drawing circles and squares with his cane on the gravel beneath the old settle—“it's so remarkable that Mr. Morris (for he could not drop the name at once) should have fallen right into our hands here. Seems to me as though God never changed any of the real laws of things, but as though He ordered the working of them together for good in a very wonderful way, just as the Scripture says He do;” and a good many other people, who have not lived in this world more than half as long as old Mr. Hartley, are willing to go the whole length of this statement, and to defend it, if need be, with page after page from their own experience.
It was just at this point in the conversation that Donald and Harold came upon the scene, and hearing all of Mr. Hartley's last remark, Donald felt sure that the old keeper, of whom he, as well as Ted and Harry Allyn, stood in not a little awe, was not going to take offence at the new turn affairs had taken; while Harold, to whom it sounded as though they had been having a somewhat prosy sermon, rather congratulated himself that Donald had carried him off to see a neighbor's kennels down the river. But now there was time for little more than good-bys, and Chris, who had slipped away to harness Jennie, was at the door; and with farewells as hearty as though they had been friends for a lifetime, Harold and Marie-Celeste climbed into the Saxon wagon, and amid much demonstration on every side were off for the Nuneham station; but Harold wondered that Donald did not drive into Nuneham with them, and said so.
“I suppose,” said Marie-Celeste, addressing Chris with a knowing look in her eyes, “he has things to attend to about the farm this time in the afternoon?”