"Don't put hope into us until you
are ready to satisfy it; we can't bear it!"
"And I have a box of goodies from my own garden safely stowed
away in Uncle Bart's shop," Waitstill went on mischievously.
"They were to be sold in Portland, but I think they'll have to be
my wedding-present to my husband, though a very strange one,
indeed! There are peaches floating in sweet syrup; there are
tumblers of quince jelly; there are jars of tomato and citron
preserves, and for supper you shall eat them with biscuits as
light as feathers and white as snowdrifts."
"We can never wait two more days, Rod; let us kidnap her! Let us
take the old bob-sled and run over to New Hampshire where one can
be married the minute one feels like it. We could do it between
sunrise and moonrise and be at home for a late supper. Would she
be too tired to bake the biscuits for us, do you think? What do
you say, Rod, will you be best man?" And there would be youthful,
unaccustomed laughter floating out from the kitchen or
living-room, bringing a smile of content to Lois Boynton's face
as she lay propped up in bed with her open Bible beside her. "He
binds up the broken-hearted," she whispered to herself. "He gives
unto them a garland for ashes; the oil of joy for mourning; the
garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.
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