That is all, I
think."
"Thank you," said Keating. "That is certainly the course to follow." Every
one nodded, or acquiesced in words; and Keating and Bence came over to
Helen and engaged her in conversation. The others began to look about for
their hats, vaguely preparing to leave.
"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There's no train due just now." And
Minnie appeared in the doorway with a big pitcher of crab-apple cider,
rich and amber-hued, sparkling, cold, and redolent of the sweet-smelling
orchard where it was born. Behind Miss Briscoe came Mildy Upton with
glasses and a fat, shaking, four-storied jelly-cake on a second tray. The
judge passed his cigars around, and the gentlemen took them blithely, then
hesitatingly held them in their fingers and glanced at the ladies,
uncertain of permission.
"Let me get you some matches," Helen said, quickly, and found a box on the
table and handed it to Keating. Every one sat beaming, and fragrant veils
of smoke soon draped the room.
"Why do you call her 'Miss Sherwood'?" Boswell whispered in Keating's ear.
"That's her name."
"Ain't she the daughter of that old fellow over there by the window? Ain't
her name Fisbee?"
"No; she's his daughter, but her legal name's Sherwood; she's an adop----"
"Great Scott! I know all about that. I'd like to know if there's a man,
woman, or child in this part of the country that doesn't.
Pages:
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351