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Keyes, Frances Parkinson, 1885-1970

"The Old Gray Homestead"

I'm so glad we took
the time for them. Oh, _Sylvia_--" And he was off. The little clock on
the mantel struck several times, unnoticed by either of them, and it was
after one, when, glancing inadvertently at it, Austin sprang to his feet,
apologizing for having kept her awake so long, and hastily bade her
good-night.
"May I come again some evening and talk more?" he asked, with his hand on
the door-handle, "or have I bored and tired you to death? You're a
wonderful listener."
"Come as often as you like--I've been learning things, too, that I want
to tell you about."
"For instance?"
"Oh, how to cook and sweep and sew--and how to be well and happy and at
peace," she added in a lower voice. Then, speaking lightly again, "We'll
try to keep up that French you've worked so hard at, together--I'm
dreadfully out of practice, myself--and read some of Browning's Italian
poems, if you would care to. Goodnight, and again, Merry Christmas."
He left her, almost in a daze of excitement and happiness; and mounted
the stairs, turning over everything that had been said and done during
the two hours since he entered her room.


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