"How time does fly!"
"Who is she?" asked Ann.
"It isn't a 'she,'" explained Abner. "It's a 'he.' Poor little chap
lost his mother two years ago, and now his father's dead. I
thought--it occurred to me we might put him up for a time. Look
after him a bit. What do you think? It would make the house more
lively, wouldn't it?"
"It might," said Ann.
She sat very silent, and Abner, whose conscience was troubling him,
watched her a little anxiously. After a time she looked up.
"What's he like?" she asked.
"Precisely what I am wondering myself," confessed Abner. "We shall
have to wait and see. But his mother--his mother," repeated Abner,
"was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. If he is anything
like she was as a girl--" He left the sentence unfinished.
"You have not seen her since--since she was young?" questioned Ann.
Abner shook his head. "She married an Englishman. He took her back
with him to London."
"I don't like Englishmen," said Ann.
"They have their points," suggested Abner. "Besides, boys take
after their mothers, they say." And Abner rose and gathered his
letters together.
Ann remained very thoughtful all that day. In the evening, when
Abner for a moment laid down his pen for the purpose of relighting
his pipe, Ann came to him, seating herself on the corner of the
desk.
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