"Oh, my dear, don't you see?" she whispered, "don't you see--don't you
see?"
When they heard the judge calling from the orchard, they went back through
the garden toward the house. It was dark; the whitest asters were but gray
splotches. There was no one in the orchard; Briscoe had gone indoors.
"Did you know you are to drive me into town in the phaeton for the
fireworks?" she asked.
"Fireworks?"
"Yes; the Great Harkless has come home."
Even in the darkness he could see the look the vision had given him when
the barouche turned into the Square. She smiled upon him and said, "All
afternoon I was wishing I could have been your mother."
He clasped her hand more tightly. "This wonderful world!" he cried.
"Yesterday I had a doctor--a doctor to cure me of love-sickness!"
They went on a little way. "We must hurry," she said. "I am sure they have
been waiting for us." This was true; they had.
From the dining-room came laughter and hearty voices, and the windows were
bright with the light of many lamps. By and by, they stood just outside
the patch of light that fell from one of the windows.
"Look," said Helen. "Aren't they good, dear people?"
"The beautiful people!" he answered.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Gentleman From Indiana, by Booth Tarkington
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA ***
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