"Don't worry, Edward; he hasn't got them,"
said Sally Patterson.
"I hope not."
"He has made a very wise choice. She is that
perfect darling of a Rose girl who couldn't speak
her piece, and thought we all loved her when we
laughed."
"Well, don't let him get foolish ideas; that is all,
my dear," said the rector.
"Don't worry, Edward. I can manage him,"
said Sally.
But she was mistaken. The very next day Jim
proposed in due form to little Lucy. He could not
help it. It was during the morning intermission,
and he came upon her seated all alone under a haw-
thorn hedge, studying her arithmetic anxiously.
She was in blue, as usual, and a very perky blue bow
sat on her soft, dark hair, like a bluebird. She
glanced up at Jim from under her long lashes.
"Do two and seven make eight or ten? If you
please, will you tell me?" said she.
"Say, Lucy," said Jim, "will you marry me by
and by?"
Lucy stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Will you?"
"Will I what?"
"Marry me by and by?"
Lucy took refuge in her little harbor of ignorance.
"I don't know," said she.
"But you like me, don't you, Lucy?"
"I don't know."
"Don't you like me better than you like Johnny
Trumbull?"
"I don't know."
"You like me better than you like Arnold Carruth,
don't you? He has curls and wears socks.
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