John Douglas Speaks at Last

           

           Annewasnotwithoutafeeblehopethatsomethingmightcomeofitafterall.Butnothingdid.JohnDouglascameandtookJanetdriving,andwalkedhomefromprayer-meetingwithher,ashehadbeendoingfortwentyyears,andasheseemedlikelytodofortwentyyearsmore.Thesummerwaned.Annetaughtherschoolandwrotelettersandstudiedalittle.Herwalkstoandfromschoolwerepleasant.Shealwayswentbywayoftheswamp;itwasalovelyplaceaboggysoil,greenwiththegreenestofmossyhillocks;asilverybrookmeanderedthroughitandsprucesstooderectly,theirboughsa-trailwithgray-greenmosses,theirrootsovergrownwithallsortsofwoodlandlovelinesses.

           Nevertheless,AnnefoundlifeinValleyRoadalittlemonotonous.Tobesure,therewasonedivertingincident.

           Shehadnotseenthelank,tow-headedSamuelofthepeppermintssincetheeveningofhiscall,saveforchancemeetingsontheroad.ButonewarmAugustnightheappeared,andsolemnlyseatedhimselfontherusticbenchbytheporch.Heworehisusualworkinghabiliments,consistingofvaripatchedtrousers,abluejeanshirt,outattheelbows,andaraggedstrawhat.HewaschewingastrawandhekeptonchewingitwhilehelookedsolemnlyatAnne.Annelaidherbookasidewithasighandtookupherdoily.ConversationwithSamwasreallyoutofthequestion.

           AfteralongsilenceSamsuddenlyspoke.

           “I’mleavingoverthere,”hesaidabruptly,wavinghisstrawinthedirectionoftheneighboringhouse.

           “Oh,areyou?”saidAnnepolitely.

           “Yep.

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