"I will take it into
my hands and you need not think of it again."
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" she cried, her eyes brimming over.
It was the old Hollis, after all; he could do anything and everything she
wanted.
Forgetting her shyness, after that home-like touch upon her shoulder, she
chatted all the way home. And he did not once think that she was a quiet
little mouse.
He did not like "quiet" people; perhaps because his own spirit was so
quiet that it required some effort for him to be noisy. Hollis admired
most characteristics unlike his own; he did not know, but he _felt_ that
Marjorie was very much like himself. She was more like him than he was
like her. They were two people who would be very apt to be drawn together
under all circumstances, but without special and peculiar training could
never satisfy each other. This was true of them even now, and, if
possible with the enlarged vision of experience, became truer as they
grew older. If they kept together they might grow together; but, the
question is, whether of themselves they would ever have been drawn very
close together. They were close enough together now, as Marjorie chatted
and Hollis listened; he had many questions to ask about the boys and
girls of the village and Marjorie had many stories to relate.
"So George Harris and Nell True are really married!" he said. "So young,
too!"
"Yes, mother did not like it. She said they were too young. He always
liked her best at school, you know.
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