A
caller, Ross dared not use his voice to shout nor his legs to run
toward them.
"Why don't you go and talk to the girls, Rossie?" Aunt Missouri asked,
in the kindness of her heart. "Don't be noisy--it's Sunday, you
know--and don't get to playing anything that'll dirty up your good
clothes."
Ross pressed his lips hard together; his heart swelled with the rage
of the misunderstood. Had the card been in his possession, he would,
at that instant, have laid it on Aunt Missouri without a qualm.
"What is it?" demanded the old gentleman, a bit testily.
"The girls want to hear you read, father," said Aunt Missouri,
shrewdly; and she got up and trotted on short, fat ankles to the girls
in the arbor. The three returned together, Alicia casting curious
glances at the uncomfortable youths, Champe threatening to burst into
giggles with every breath.
Abner sat hard on his cap and blushed silently. Ross twisted his hat
into a three-cornered wreck.
The two girls settled themselves noisily on the upper step. The old
man read on and on. The sun sank lower. The hills were red in the west
as though a brush fire flamed behind their crests.
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