I haven't any Shelley
that you have not seen a dozen times--I just intended that
surprise to come to the boy and in the way Ruth wanted it--she has
talked of nothing else since she knew he was coming. Mighty
dangerous, I can tell you, that old bench. Ruth can take care of
herself, but that poor fellow will be in a dreadful state if we
leave them alone too long. Sit here, Holker, and tell me about the
dinner and what you said. All that Peter could remember was that
you never did better, and that everybody cheered, and that the
squabs were so dry he couldn't eat them."
But the Scribe refuses to be interested in Holker's talk, however
brilliant, or in Miss Felicia's crisp repartee. His thoughts are
down among the palms, where the two figures are entering the
arbor, the soft glow of half a dozen lanterns falling upon the
joyous face of the beautiful girl, as, with hand in Jack's, she
leads him to a seat beside her on the bench.
"But it's like home," Jack gasped. "Why, you must remember your
own garden, and the porch that ran alongside of the kitchen, and
the brick walls--and just see how big it is and you never told me
a word about it! Why?"
"Oh, because it would have spoiled all the fun; I was so afraid
daddy would tell you that I made him promise not to say a word;
and nobody else had seen it except Mr.
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