Hammond--Caleb--"
But Caleb was on his way to the woodshed. He found the ladder and
laboriously dragged it beneath the window. Kenelm Parker had a local
reputation for sleeping like the dead. Otherwise Mr. Hammond would never
have dared risk the noise he was making.
Even after the ladder had been placed in position, Miss Parker
hesitated. At first she flatly refused to descend, asserting that no
mortal power could get her down that thing alive. But Caleb begged and
commanded in agonized whispers, and finally she was prevailed upon to
try. Mr. Hammond grasped the lower end of the ladder with a grip that
brought the perspiration out upon his forehead, and the lady, with
suppressed screams and ejaculations of "Oh, good Lord!" and "Heavens and
earth! What shall I do?" reached the ground safe and more or less sound.
They left the ladder where it was, and tiptoed fearfully out to the
lane.
"Whew!" panted the exhausted swain, mopping his brow. "I'm clean
tuckered out. I ain't done so much work for ten years."
"Don't say a word, Caleb Hammond. If I ain't got my death of--of ammonia
or somethin', I miss my guess. I'm all wheezed up from settin' at that
open winder waitin' for you to come; and I thought you never WOULD
come."
As Caleb was helping the lady of his choice into the carryall he noticed
that she carried a small hand-bag.
"What you got that thing for?" he demanded.
"It's my reticule; there's a clean handkerchief and a few other things
in it.
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