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"Ned could go for her in the morning. O yes," she concluded decidedly, "Ned can manage that I know." Little Wolf spent the day above mentioned in Mrs. Sherman's family. She was happy; happier than she had been since her return home. The memory of the dreadful night which she passed at Squire Tinknor's had ever since haunted her.
During the few days they were together, Mrs. Sherman strove by every means she could devise to give her young friend some relief from the distress of mind, under which it was evident she was laboring. But she was at length obliged to return home, leaving to Mrs. Tinknor's skill the trying case, which had baffled her own benevolent efforts.
"I can take care of myself," muttered Little Wolf, but, while she paused she had additional cause for mortification; for Squire Tinknor had found his way to his wife, and her only refuge was behind Mrs. Tinknor's flowing skirts. Here she partially screened herself, while he informed them that the boat would attempt a downward trip in the course of an hour.
He was generally shrewd and reliable in his business transactions, although his appetite for drink occasionally got the better of his judgment. This known discrepancy of character was tolerated in society rather as an amiable weakness, than a vile habit, for none had the hardihood to frown openly upon a man of Squire Tinknor's wealth and position. His family consisted of a wife and one son.
It was decided that they should accept the invitation, and accordingly, on a warm summer morning, a requisition was made on Squire Tinknor's horses and carriage, and Tom was installed as driver. Fanny and Flora were to be left with Mrs.
We made him think that it was his sister we were expecting, and when he rushed to meet her and saw who it was you ought to have seen his face." On the subject of lovemaking, which was witnessed by the trees in the grove at Fairy Knoll, we will be silent. But the double wedding which followed was public and grand, and took place at St. Paul, under Mrs. Tinknor's supervision.
"O dear, yes," said Little Wolf, springing to the door, "do come in, my dear Mrs. Tinknor, and tell me what this horrid pomade is made of." "Why, dear child, what have you been doing to yourself? your hair looks as if ten thousand furies had been tearing it." "O Mrs. Tinknor, it is this horrid pomade." Mrs. Tinknor's eye fell upon the offending preparation.
A few weeks later, and everything was in company order at Squire Tinknor's, and Fanny Green's demure little face looked out of the window, almost the entire day that Little Wolf and her friends were to arrive, and when, just at twilight, a carriage brought them to the gate, she shrank away in the folds of the curtain, and Little Wolf found her there sobbing for joy.
Tinknor's previous interview with Tom had in a measure prepared her for Little Wolf's communication, but the tearless eye, so full of anguish, the white cheek and compressed lips, all so unlike her brilliant little friend, struck her painfully; and indignation towards the author of so much wretchedness was the uppermost feeling as, in conclusion, Little Wolf pleadingly asked, "what can I do, my dear Mrs.
The loaf, be it remembered, had fallen into the hands of the voracious couple just behind him, and if greedily devouring it during the entire day would have made a finish of it, the deed would have been done. But the more they fed on it, the larger and sweeter it grew, and, by the time they had arrived at Squire Tinknor's, their loaf had grown to be almost as much as they could carry.
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