I would hear the sharp
ting of Andrew's little typewriter bell as he was working in his
study. And then I would try to swallow down within me the beauty
and wistfulness of it all, and run back to mash the potatoes.
Peg drew Parnassus along the backward road with a merry little
rumble. I think she knew we were going back to the Professor.
Bock careered mightily along the wayside. And I had much time
for thinking. On the whole, I was glad; for I had much to
ponder. An adventure that had started as a mere lark or whim
had now become for me the very gist of life itself. I was
fanciful, I guess, and as romantic as a young hen, but by the
bones of George Eliot, I'm sorry for the woman that never has
a chance to be fanciful. Mifflin was in jail; aye, but he
might have been dead and--_unrecognizable!_ My heart refused
to be altogether sad. I was on my way to deliver him from
durance vile. There seemed a kinship between the season and
myself, I mused, seeing the goldenrod turning bronze and
droopy along the way. Here was I, in the full fruition of
womanhood, on the verge of my decline into autumn, and lo! by
the grace of God, I had found my man, my master. He had
touched me with his own fire and courage.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152