“Hum!—What does this mean!” thought Farmer Leyton, turning the letter over and over, and looking at the seal,—“L’Amour,” “Fidelité.”
Lucy was watching for his return; and as soon as she saw the well-known team rise the hill, she flew swiftly along the road to meet it. Her father held up the letter. Ah! what a bright, happy face was hers, as she caught it from his hand; and seating herself under a shady tree by the road-side, she eagerly tore off the envelope, and pressed the insensible chirography to her lips.
“Hum!—what does this mean!” again thought the farmer, eyeing Lucy keenly. “Gee-haw, Darby—Gee-up, Dick!” he cried, sweeping his cart-whip above the sleek hides of his oxen, yet all the time noting uneasily the bright blush, the happy smile of Lucy, all absorbed as she was in the contents of her letter.
In less than a week there came another.
“Hum!” said Mr. Leyton, putting it in his pocket, “I must see what this means.”
He went home, foddered the cattle, and then walked into the house.
“Come here Lu, sit down by me.”
Lucy laid aside her work, and drawing a low foot-stool to the side of her father, folded her dimpled hands upon his knees, and looked up smiling into his face.
“Well, Lu, you had a nice time, didn’t you, at Mrs. Tracy’s?” said Mr. Leyton, smoothing back the long, golden curls from her white upturned brow.
“Indeed I did, my dear father. I am sure, although I was so anxious to see you, I was sorry to come away.”