His
heart was in the Connecticut Valley also. No message had come to
him from Susie Rolliffe. Those were not the days of swift and
frequent communication. Even Mrs. Jarvis had written but seldom,
and her missives were brief. Mother-love glowed through the few
quaint and scriptural phrases like heat in anthracite coals. All
that poor Zeb could learn from them was that Susie Rolliffe had
kept her word and had been to the farm more than once; but the
girl had been as reticent as the mother. Zeke was now on his way
home to prosecute his suit in person, and Zeb well knew how
forward and plausible he could be. There was no deed of daring
that he would not promise to perform after spring opened, and Zeb
reasoned gloomily that a present lover, impassioned and
importunate, would stand a better chance than an absent one who
had never been able to speak for himself.
When it was settled that Stokes should return to Opinquake, Zeb
determined that he would not give up the prize to Zeke without one
decisive effort; and as he was rubbing the cobbler's leg, he
stammered, "I say Ezra, will you do me a turn? 'Twon't be so much,
what I ask, except that I'll like you to keep mum about it, and
you're a good hand at keeping mum.
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