"I never said I cared a rap for Jim Dodge; but you told me a whole
lot about Wesley Elliot: don't you remember that night we walked home
from the fair, and you--"
Fanny suddenly put her hand over her friend's.
"Please don't talk so loud, Ellen; somebody will be sure to hear. I'd
forgotten what you said--truly, I had. But Jim--"
"Well?" interrogated Ellen impatiently, arching her slender black
brows.
"Let's walk down in the orchard," proposed Fanny. "Somebody else can
work on these silly old hearts, if they want to. My needle sticks so
I can't sew, anyway."
"I've got to help mother cut the cake, in a minute," objected Ellen.
But she stepped down on the parched grass and the two friends were
soon strolling among the fallen fruit of a big sweet apple tree
behind the house, their arms twined about each other's waists, their
pretty heads bent close together.
Chapter XVI
"The reason I spoke to you about Jim just now," said Fanny, "was
because he's been acting awfully queer lately. I thought perhaps you
knew--I know he likes you better than any of the other girls. He says
you have some sense, and the others haven't."
"I guess that must have been before Lydia Orr came to Brookville,"
said Ellen, in a hard, sweet voice.
"Yes; it was," admitted Fanny reluctantly. "Everything seems to be
different since then."
"What has Jim been doing that's any queerer than usual?" inquired
Ellen, with some asperity.
Fanny hesitated.
"You won't tell?"
"Of course not, if it's a secret.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190