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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

I wouldn't have you take cold for--" she did not finish
the sentence; something in his face told her that her solicitude
might already have betrayed her.
"Of course, I will go just as soon as you are rested a little, but
you mustn't worry about me, Miss Ruth, I am as wet as a rat, I
know, but I am that way half the time when it rains. These
tarpaulins let in a lot of water--" here he lifted his arms so she
could see the openings herself--"and then I got in over my boots
trying to plug the holes in the sluiceway with some plank." He was
looking down into her eyes now. Never had he seen her so pretty.
The exercise had made roses of her cheeks, and the up-turned face
framed by the thatch of a bonnet bound with the veil, reminded him
of a Madonna.
"And is everything all right with daddy? And was there nobody in
the shanties?" she went on. "Perhaps I might better try to get
over where he is;--do you think I can? I would just like to tell
him how glad I am it is no worse."
"Yes, if you change boots with me," laughed Jack, determined to
divert her mind; "I was nearly swamped getting back here.


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