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Lige Willetts was a lover, yet he said he asked no better than to Just go on eating that cherry-pie till a sweet death overtook him; but railroad sandwiches and restaurant chops might have been set before Harkless for all the difference it would have made to him.
"I think maybe Cherry-pie wants me now," she said shyly, and slipped away, leaving David mournfully eating green grapes in the arbor. This was the last time that Elizabeth, uninvited, put her head on a boy's shoulder. A week later she confided to Miss White the great fact of her engagement; but she was not so excited about it by that time.
In the house, the letter in her hand, she stopped to hug Miss White. "Cherry-pie! the letter has come. I'm to be married on my birthday!" "Oh, my lamb," said Cherry-pie, "however shall I get things ready in time!" Elizabeth did not wait to help her in her housekeeping anxieties. She fled singing up to her room.
Corn-beef is very cheap, Cherry-pie says. So's liver." Up on the porch the conversation was quite as practical as it was down by the moonlit water: "Elizabeth is to have a little bit of money handed over to her on her next birthday," Mr. Ferguson was saying; then he twitched the black ribbon of his glasses and brought them tumbling from his nose; "it's an inheritance from her father."
She began to pace up and down the room. Once she unfolded the letter, and glancing again at those moderate words, laughed loudly. "'His," she said, "I told him I was 'his'? I must have been out of my head. Well, I'll 'think it over! I'll 'think it over! he needn't worry about that. Oh, I could kill myself! And I told Cherry-pie I was going to be " she could not speak the word.
"I wish I could have spared Uncle Robert and Cherry-pie," she said, in real distress. It occurred to her that she had given them many unhappy moments. "I was always a trouble; what a pity I was ever born." She thought suddenly of her mother, remembering how she used to excuse her temper on the ground that her mother had had no self-control.
Cherry-pie was a standing dish at our house with which to celebrate the Declaration of Independence. The servants had all gone out for a holiday, no dinner was cooked, and the sole dependence was on the cherry-pie.
The poor, ugly, shorn head, the pile of gleaming hair on the bureau, the wicked, tear-stained, laughing face brought the poor lady's heart into her throat. "Elizabeth!" she faltered again; and Elizabeth ran and flung her arms about her neck. "David forgot all about me," she sobbed. "He is always hurting my feelings! And I can't bear to have my feelings hurt. Oh, Cherry-pie, kiss me! Kiss me!"
There is so much to be done between now and the wedding," Cherry-pie fretted happily. "Wedding!" Elizabeth said to herself; then slipped back the latch of the front door: "I sha'n't come back until to-morrow." "Oh, my lamb!" Miss White remonstrated, "I must ask you some questions about the wedding!" Then she remembered more immediate questions: "Is your satchel packed?
Elizabeth's governess, Miss White called by Elizabeth, for reasons of her own, "Cherry-pie" had completely surrendered to his brown eyes; the men in the Maitland Works toadied to him; David Richie blustered, perhaps, but always gave in to him; in his own home, Harris, who was a cross between a butler and a maid-of-all-work, adored him to the point of letting him make candy on the kitchen stove probably the greatest expression of affection possible to the kitchen; in fact, little Elizabeth Ferguson was the only person in his world who did not knuckle down to this pleasant and lovable child.
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