Peggy Bond trembled with
excitement, but her companion's firm grasp never wavered, and so they
came to the narrow, gravelly margin and stood still. Peggy tried in
vain to see the glittering water and the pond-lilies that starred it;
she knew that they must be there; once, years ago, she had caught
fleeting glimpses of them, and she never forgot what she had once
seen. The clear blue sky overhead, the dark pine-woods beyond the
pond, were all clearly pictured in her mind. "Can't you see nothin'?"
she faltered; "I believe I'm wuss'n upsighted this day. I'm going to
be blind."
"No," said Lavina Dow solemnly; "no, there ain't nothin' whatever,
Peggy. I hope to mercy she ain't"--
"Why, whoever'd expected to find you 'way out here!" exclaimed a brisk
and cheerful voice. There stood Betsey Lane herself, close behind
them, having just emerged from a thicket of alders that grew close by.
She was following the short way homeward from the railroad.
"Why, what's the matter, Mis' Dow? You ain't overdoin', be ye? an'
Peggy's all of a flutter. What in the name o' natur' ails ye?"
"There ain't nothin' the matter, as I knows on," responded the leader
of this fruitless expedition. "We only thought we'd take a stroll this
pleasant mornin'," she added, with sublime self-possession. "Where've
you be'n, Betsey Lane?"
"To Pheladelphy, ma'am," said Betsey, looking quite young and gay, and
wearing a townish and unfamiliar air that upheld her words. "All ought
to go that can; why, you feel's if you'd be'n all round the world.
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