It was toward the close of this pre-honey-moon--it lasted only ten
days, but it was full moon every hour and no clouds--when, early
one morning--before nine o'clock, really--a night message was
handed to Jack. It had been sent to the brick office, but the
telegraph boy, finding that building closed and abandoned, had
delivered it to Mrs. Hicks, who, discovering it to be sealed,
forwarded it at once, and by the same hand, to the MacFarlane
house, known now to everybody as the temporary headquarters,
especially in the day time, of the young superintendent who was
going to marry the daughter--"and there ain't a nicer, nor a
better, nor a prettier."
On this morning, then, the two had planned a day in the woods back
of the hills; Ruth's mare was to be hooked up to a hired buggy,
and such comforts as a bucket of ice, lettuce sandwiches thin as
wafers, a cold chicken, a spirit lamp, teapot, and cups and
saucers, not to mention a big shawl for my sweetheart to sit on,
and another smaller one for her lovely shoulders when the cool of
the evening came on, were to be stowed away under the seat.
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