And with the first warm day came Miss Felicia. "When your
wretched, abominable roads, my dear, dry up so that a body can
walk without sinking up to their neck in mud--" ran Miss Felicia's
letter in answer to Ruth's invitation,--"I'll come down for the
night," and she did, bringing Ruth half of her laces, now that she
was determined to throw herself away on "that good-for nothing--
Yes, Jack, I mean you and nobody else, and you needn't stand there
laughing at me, for every word of it's true; for what in the world
you two babes in the wood are going to live on no mortal man
knows;" Ruth answering with her arm tight around the dear lady's
neck,--a liberty nobody,--not even Peter, ever dared take--and a
whisper in her ear that Jack was the blessedest ever, and that she
loved him so sometimes she was well-nigh distracted--a statement
which the old lady remarked was literally true.
And we may be sure that Peter came too--and we may be equally
positive that no impassable roads could have held him back.
Indeed, on the very afternoon of the very day following the
receipt of the joyful telegram, he had closed his books with a
bang, performed the Moses act until he had put them into the big
safe, slipped on his coat, given an extra brush to his hat and
started for the ferry.
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