"Is it Dolly Lee?" asked Sara, all interest.
"No, it isn't Dolly Lee," dryly; "it's Sara Olmstead."
The sewing dropped again.
"Miss Prue!"
"Well, it is, and you needn't speak as if I'd told a falsehood; for I
_know!_"
Sara's cheeks had crimsoned warmly, and her voice faltered a little, as
she asked,--
"Did he tell you himself?"
"Not in so many words; but I've known it, so has his mother, for a long
time. He has cared for you ever since he was a little boy. And Sara,"
earnestly, "where would you find a better husband, a truer heart? I'm an
old goose, I suppose, to speak out so plainly; but the fact is, Jasper's
a bit afraid of you, and doesn't dare to speak, I imagine."
"Afraid of _me?_"
"Yes, he thinks you some kind of a goddess probably; most men do till
they are married, and then they're too apt to think their wives are
kitchen-maids; but I don't think Jasper'll be like that!" she added
hastily.
Sara smiled.
"I've no doubt, Miss Prue, that Jasper would be all that is good and
noble; ah! there is Molly coming back; I wonder if she succeeded in
matching your yarn," and rising with a relieved air, she hurried out to
meet her sister.
But the conversation lingered in her memory, and was often brought to
mind by trivial events.
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