"You've had the news. I guess Mother Jarvis has the next right."
And she was off over the hills with almost the lightness and
swiftness of a snowbird.
In due time Zeke appeared, and smiled encouragingly on Mrs.
Rolliffe, who sat knitting by the kitchen fire. The matron did not
rise, and gave him but a cool salutation. He discussed the
coldness of the weather awkwardly for a few moments, and then
ventured: "Is Miss Susan at home?"
"No, sir," replied Mrs. Rolliffe; "she's gone to make a visit to
her mother-in-law that is to be, the Widow Jarvis. Ezra Stokes is
sittin' in the next room, sent home sick. Perhaps you'd like to
talk over camp-life with him."
Not even the cider now sustained Zeke. He looked as if a cannon-
ball had wrecked all his hopes and plans instead of a shovel.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Rolliffe," he stammered; "I guess I'll--I'll--
go home."
Poor Mrs. Jarvis had a spiritual conflict that day which she never
forgot. Susie's face had flashed at the window near which she had
sat spinning, and sighing perhaps that Nature had not provided
feathers or fur for a brood like hers; then the girl's arms were
about her neck, the news was stammered out--for the letter could
never be shown to any one--in a way that tore primness to tatters.
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