Mary Ellen stood still, doubting whether to speak, but looking rather
puzzled; for David was in plain sight, fixing his pickerel-traps in the
back-room.
"Miss Joey," said I, smiling, and looking towards him, "there are two
Mr. Lanes, you know."
"Oh, David,--yes,--David. Wal, so David could."
And so David did. I bit my lip, and went out.
In turning the corner of the house, I passed the open window, and
glanced in, as was natural. 'Twas an old-fashioned bedstead, and there
was David, red as a rose, screwing up the cord, while Mary Ellen, fair
as a lily, was hammering away at the wooden peg, while the old lady
stood by, giving directions.
It struck me so queerly that I laughed and talked to myself all the way
to the office.
"Poor David!" I muttered, "how could he steady his hands, with such a
pair of white arms near them? Good! good!" And then I would ha! ha! and
strike my stick against the stones. "Turner," said I, addressing myself,
"she's what you may call a sweet pretty girl."
I addressed the same remark to Miss Joey that night at tea.
"The girl," said she, "is an innocent little country-girl.
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