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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"


"You mustn't feel that way, little girl. You can't help it--I
can't help it--and these things happen all the time, everywhere.
You don't have to stay here. You can go away and study, and when I
can, I'll come to see you and cheer you up; and when you are a
great singer, I'll send you flowers and be so proud of you, and
I'll say to myself, 'I helped do that.' Dry your eyes, now. You
must go back to the hotel. Your father will be there by this time
and you'll have to be starting home pretty soon."
Like a child she obeyed him, but she was so weak and trembling
that he put his arm about her to help her down the hill. At the
edge of the woods she stopped and turned full toward him.
"You are so good," she said tremulously, "so GOOD. Why, you
haven't even asked me if there was another--"
Hale interrupted her, shaking his head.
"If there is, I don't want to know."
"But there isn't, there isn't!" she cried, "I don't know what is
the matter with me. I hate--" the tears started again, and again
she was on the point of breaking down, but Hale checked her.
"Now, now," he said soothingly, "you mustn't, now--that's all
right.


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