"I am not afraid to go away now."
"Marjorie,"--the kitchen door was opened suddenly,--"I'm going to take
your mother home with me. Is the key in the right place."
"Everything is all right, Mrs. Rheid," replied Morris. "You bolt that
door and we will go out this way."
The door was closed as suddenly and the boy and girl stood silent,
looking at each other.
"Your Morris Kemlo is a fine young man," observed Mrs. Rheid as she
pushed the bolt into its place.
"He is a heartease to his mother," replied Mrs. West, who was sometimes
poetical.
"Does Marjorie like him pretty well?"
"Why, yes, we all do. He is like our own flesh and blood. But why did you
ask?"
"Oh, nothing. I just thought of it."
"I thought you meant something, but you couldn't when you know how Hollis
has been writing to her these four years."
"Oh!" ejaculated Hollis' mother.
She did not make plans for her children as the other mother did.
The two old ladies crossed the field toward the substantial white
farmhouse that overlooked the little cottage, and the children, whose
birthday it was, walked hand in hand through the yard to the footpath
along the road.
"Must you keep on writing to Hollis?" he asked.
"I suppose so. Why not? It is my turn to write now."
"That's all nonsense."
"What is? Writing in one's turn?"
"I don't see why you need write at all."
"Don't you remember I promised before you came?"
"But I've come now," he replied in a tone intended to be very convincing.
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