"But if Prissy doesn't want me I'm not going
to force my attentions on her."
Well, we talked it over a bit, and in the end I agreed to
sound Prissy, and find out what she really thought about it.
I didn't think it would be hard to do; and it wasn't. I went over
the very next day because I saw Emmeline driving off to the store.
I found Prissy alone, sewing carpet rags. Emmeline kept
her constantly at that--because Prissy hated it I suppose.
Prissy was crying when I went in, and in a few minutes I had
the whole story.
Prissy wanted to get married--and she wanted to get married to Stephen--
and Emmeline wouldn't let her.
"Prissy Strong," I said in exasperation, "you haven't the spirit
of a mouse! Why on earth did you write him such a letter?"
"Why, Emmeline made me," said Prissy, as if there couldn't
be any appeal from that; and I knew there couldn't--
for Prissy. I also knew that if Stephen wanted to see Prissy
again Emmeline must know nothing of it, and I told him so when
he came down the next evening--to borrow a hoe, he said.
It was a long way to come for a hoe.
"Then what am I to do?" he said. "It wouldn't be any use
to write, for it would likely fall into Emmeline's hands.
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