"
"If you feel as you said you did the other night, why didn't you go
and speak to him?" Louisa wanted to know.
"But I don't feel that way now. That was just a mood.
You don't know anything about moods, dearie. You don't know
what it is to yearn desperately one hour for something you
wouldn't take if it were offered you the next."
"But that is foolishness," protested Louisa.
"To be sure it is--rank foolishness. But oh, it is so delightful to be
foolish after being compelled to be unbrokenly sensible for twenty years.
Well, I'm going picking strawberries this afternoon, Lou. Don't wait
tea for me. I probably won't be back till dark. I've only four more
days to stay and I want to make the most of them."
Nancy wandered far and wide in her rambles that afternoon. When she
had filled her jug she still roamed about with delicious aimlessness.
Once she found herself in a wood lane skirting a field wherein a man
was mowing hay. The man was Peter Wright. Nancy walked faster when she
discovered this, with never a roving glance, and presently the green,
ferny depths of the maple woods swallowed her up.
From old recollections, she knew that she was on
Peter Morrison's land, and calculated that if she kept straight
on she would come out where the old Morrison house used to be.
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