Well, the boys were around her that
night like bees round a honeysuckle bush--no denying there's something
almighty irresistible about these little, soft-looking girls, now, is
there? Ah! her roses didn't last long, poor child. Now you've given her
a good, healthful place to live in, and something to think about and
do--she'd have lost her reason without them, after all she's been
through. But when you're tired of her, I want her. I'm a poor, forlorn
lonely old bachelor, and I need her a great deal more than any of you.
What do you say to a little walk, Mr. Gray, before we turn in? I want
to have a look at your fine farm. I have a farm myself--no such grand
old place as this, of course, but a neat little toy not far from the
city, where I can run down Sundays. Sylvia used to be very fond of
going down with me. It's from my foreman, a queer, scientific
chap--Jenkins his name is--that she's picked up all these notions
she's been unloading on you. Pretty good, most of them, aren't they,
though? You must run down there some time, boys, and look things
over--it's well to go about a bit when one's thinking of building and
branching out--Sylvia's idea, exactly, isn't it?"
Mr.
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