Fanny stooped and brushed the lined forehead with her fresh young
lips.
"Goodnight, mother," said she. "I wish you were going."
She drew back a little and looked down at her mother, smiling
brilliantly.
"And don't you worry another minute about me, mother," she said
resolutely. "I'm all right."
"Oh, I do hope so, child," returned her mother, sniffing back her
ready tears. "I'd hate to feel that you--"
The girl hurried to the door, where her brother stood watching her.
"Come on, Jim," she said. "We have to stop for Ellen."
She followed him down the narrow path to the gate, holding her crisp
white skirts well away from the dew-drenched border. As the two
emerged upon the road, lying white before them under the brilliant
moonlight, Fanny glanced up timidly at her brother's dimly seen
profile under the downward sweep of his hat-brim.
"It's real dusty, isn't it?" said she, by way of breaking a silence
she found unbearable. "It'll make my shoes look horrid."
"Walk over on the side more," advised Jim laconically.
"Then I'll get in with all those weeds; they're covered with dust and
wet, besides," objected Fanny.... "Say, Jim!"
"Well?"
"Wouldn't it be nice if we had an auto, then I could step in, right
in front of the house, and keep as clean as--"
The young man laughed.
"Wouldn't you like an aeroplane better, Fan? I believe I would."
"You could keep it in the barn; couldn't you, Jim?"
"No," derided Jim, "the barn isn't what you'd call up-to-date.
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