Meanwhile Susie had received a guest earlier in the day. The stage
had stopped at the gate where she had stood in the September
sunshine and waved her bewildered farewell to Zeb. There was no
bewilderment or surprise now at her strange and unwonted
sensations. She had learned why she had stood looking after him
dazed and spellbound. Under the magic of her own light irony she
had seen her drooping rustic lover transformed into the ideal man
who could face anything except her unkindness. She had guessed the
deep secret of his timidity. It was a kind of fear of which she
had not dreamed, and which touched her innermost soul.
When the stage stopped at the gate, and she saw the driver helping
out Ezra Stokes, a swift presentiment made her sure that she would
hear from one soldier who was more to her than all the generals.
She was soon down the walk, the wind sporting in her light-gold
hair, supporting the cobbler on the other side.
"Ah, Miss Susie!" he said, "I am about worn out, sole and upper.
It breaks my heart, when men are so sorely needed, to be thrown
aside like an old shoe.
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