"
And now, Aunt Jennie, I am recklessly going away to furnish more gossip
for the ladies of the place, bless their poor old hearts. I have been
interviewing Susie, whose voluble conversation is often amusing, and find
that she also entertains some queer ideas. Of course I undeceived her at
once. Daddy doesn't think there is the slightest impropriety in the trip,
deeming Susie a sufficient chaperon. The ladies here of course never
indulge in such masculine pursuits as hunting, but none of them will
consider my doing it as any more wonderful than my going fishing. It will
be but one more of the peculiar doings of them "Merikins."
By the way, Harry Lawrence has written. You know, Auntie dear, that he is
one of the few very nice fellows to whom I have had to hint, as gently as
possible, that I am awfully happy with old Dad. He was the only one of
them to put out his hand, like the good, strong, red-headed, football
wonder that he is. I can hear him now:
"Shake, little girl," he said, smilingly. "You are not ready yet, are
you? I am not going to believe that this is your last word, and we'll
just pretend I didn't speak, and go on being good old pals as before. My
chance may come yet."
I remember that I felt quite gulpy and shaky when he said that, and that
I wished at the time that I had been able to think of him otherwise than
as a good old friend, just to see him grin happily again, as he so often
does.
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