If it hadn't been for my principle of always asking questions, I never
should have found you in the world. But just as I was really beginning
to despair, the Chorewoman came by, and I asked her if she had seen
any gentleman here lately; and she said there was one now, over here,
and I stretched up and saw you. I had such a fright for a moment, not
seeing you; for I left my little plush bag with my purse in it at
Stearns's, and I've got to hurry right back; though I'm afraid they'll
be shut when I get there, Saturday afternoon, this way; but I'm going
to rattle at the front door, and perhaps they'll come--they always
stay, some of them, to put the goods away; and I can tell them I don't
want to buy anything, but I left my bag with my purse in it, and I
guess they'll let me in. I want you to keep these things for me,
Edward; and I'll leave my shopping-bag; I sha'n't want it any more.
Don't lose any of them. Better keep them all in your lap here
together, and then nobody will come and sit on them." She disburdens
herself of her packages and parcels, and arranges them on her
husband's knees, while she goes on talking. "I'm almost ready to drop,
I'm so tired, and I do believe I should let you go up to Stearns's for
me; but you couldn't describe the bag so they would recognize it, let
alone what was in it, and they wouldn't give it to you, even if they
would let you in to inquire: they're much more likely to let a lady in
than a gentleman.
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