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Updated: June 19, 2025
It was at the stiles one night that Judith handed Crittenden back the locket that had come from the stiffened hand of the Rough Rider, Blackford, along with a letter, stained, soiled, unstamped, addressed to herself, marked on the envelope "Soldier's letter," and countersigned by his Captain.
Blackford applied some home-made remedies to the lump on the youth's head, and it felt much better. "I'd like to take a look at my motor-cycle," he said, after his second cup of tea. "I want to see if those men damaged it any. If they have I'm going to have trouble getting back home to tell my father of my bad luck. Poor dad!
Blackford says, more at length, of No. 6: "Industrious, energetic, watchful, careful, dependable, and conscientious in her work. She is sympathetic, but exacting with her workers. She has fair intelligence, is teachable, and will give considerable thought to improving her work. She is also a good critic and a good judge of values.
"What is it lost something?" asked the latter. "My bag of oh, here they are," and Grace, with a look of contentment, began munching some chocolates. "It is awfully nice of you, Mrs. Nelson, to ask us down for the summer," said Amy Blackford to her hostess when they were settled in the speeding train. "I do so love the seashore."
You handle that thing like a child with a loaded pistol. Don't you see what that would mean to Marian, to Blackford, to Mrs. Bassett to Aunt Sally! Now, you want my advice, or you said you did, and I'm going to give you some. You go right down to that bank over there on the corner and buy a steamer ticket and a long letter of credit.
Unconsciously the sense of Morton Bassett's importance deepened. In marrying Mrs. Jackson Owen's niece Bassett had linked himself to the richest woman at the state capital. He had not encumbered himself with a crude wife from the countryside, but had married a woman with important connections. Blackford Singleton had been one of the leading men of the state, and Mrs.
There was a little delay, but not much, and soon Mr. Blackford was in a position to take up his option. A local bank, where the telegraph concern did business, paid over the five hundred in cash, and four hundred of this was at once sent on to New York, by telegraph. "I hope it reaches my man," said Mr. Blackford. "I have told him to wire me here."
Jackson, watch in hand, sat silent on "Little Sorrel," his slouched hat drawn low over his eyes, and his lips tightly compressed. On his right was General Rodes, tall, lithe, and soldierly, and on Rodes' right was Major Blackford. "Are you ready, General Rodes?" said Jackson. "Yes, sir," said Rodes, impatient as his men. "You can go forward, sir," said Jackson.
There was but about a week more in the woods, when, one fine warm day that is, warm for that time of year the party of young people set off for a tramp in the forest. By twos and threes they strolled on, until finally Amy and Mr. Blackford found themselves in rather a lonely part of the woods, separated from the others. "I guess we had better be getting back," he observed with a smile.
Meanwhile Amy Blackford, the last of the trio to whom the dark-haired, pink-cheeked little person who was Betty Nelson had telephoned, had stopped merely to remove the apron from in front of her pink-checked gingham dress and was now flying along the two short blocks that separated her house from the Nelsons'. As for poor Mollie Billette, she was nearly distracted.
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