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Updated: June 2, 2025
She took a step toward him in her indignation. Suddenly, with a sweep of his arm, he clipped her to him, kissing her on forehead and cheek. She struck him in the face with her clenched fist driven by muscles as hard as an athlete's. "You great brute!" she panted. With the blow and the words, Farwell's moment of madness passed. He held her from him at arm's length. "A brute!" he said.
Miss Farwell's cheeks and brow grew crimson, but in a moment she was her own calm self again. "Go on, please." Then he told her. While he was speaking of the Elders' visit and his talk with Dr. Abbott, she watched him closely. Two or three times she smiled. When he had finished she asked with a touch of sarcasm in her voice, "And do you wish to see my letters of recommendation?
Her happy, light-hearted mood was past; she felt unaccountably gloomy, and as she walked on she sought to explain herself to herself, and presently Jerry-Jo came into focus and would not stir from her contemplation. Yes, it was Jerry-Jo's personality that disturbed her, and it was Farwell's words that had torn the shield she herself had erected, and set the truth free.
He will never give up his patients; neither will he give up his dreams. Miss Farwell's plans for the girl, whose life she had reclaimed, did not fail. Dr. Miles, when he heard her story, gladly helped Grace to a place in the school where she might fit herself for her chosen ministry; for, said the famous physician, "The best nurses in the world are those who have themselves suffered.
I am Farwell's friend. Why, do you know" and now the deep eyes glowed kindly "he has even told me of that original religion you evolved from your needs; he pictured the strange god you worshipped. I've laughed over that many times." "Your tea is getting cold, sir."
"Where else then and all Kenmore not know? Wait till to-morrow before you leap to the doing of that which you may regret. Calm yourself and wait until to-morrow." And Theodora waited many, many morrows. "And you see, Master Farwell, I cannot go back to my father's house." It was after nine of the evening of the day Priscilla Glenn had left home. She had reached Farwell's shack without being seen.
Sure enough, the black horse was covering the ground at a pace that fairly took Miss Farwell's breath. The quick steady beat of the iron-shod feet and the rattle of the buggy wheels echoed loudly in the gray stillness.
He might win Ledyard; he could not win the pack! When Mary McAdam knocked on Farwell's door he thought the time had come, but the sight of the distracted mother steadied him. Here was something for him to do, something to carry him away from his lonely forebodings. "Come in, Mrs. McAdam. Rest yourself. You look sorely in need of rest." It was the early evening of a hot day.
It was nearly eleven when Farwell saw him advancing across the Green. He had been down by the water, probably hiding in some anchored boat until he was sure that he would not be seen. As he reached the door of Farwell's house a clear voice called to him: "Will you come in, or would you prefer to have me come out?" This took Ledyard rather at a disadvantage.
For a moment it was partially obscured by a figure, and then it vanished utterly. The door had closed. The light from the window remained. "Somebody's come out," said McHale. "That's about where Farwell's shack is. What's keepin' Oscar? He's had time enough. Maybe I'd better go across and hold up this feller? We don't want " The lantern bobbed into view once more.
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