"Why, Dad, you're crazy!" he cried. "There isn't another girl in
the whole world as pretty and sweet as Polly. Milly York? She
can't hold a candle to Polly! Besides, she's been Adam's as long
as Polly has been mine!"
"God bless my soul!" cried Mr. Peters. "How these youngsters to
run away with us. And are you the most beautiful young man at
Bates Corners, Henry?"
"I'm beautiful enough that Polly will put her arms around my neck
and kiss me, anyway," blurted Henry. "So you and Ma can get ready
for a wedding as soon as Polly says the word. I'm ready, right
now."
"So am I," said Mr. Peters, "and from the way Ma complains about
the work I and you boys make her, I don't think she will object to
a little help. Polly is a good, steady worker."
Polly ran, but she simply could not light the fire, set the table,
and get things cooked on time, while everything she touched seemed
to spill or slip. She could not think what, or how, to do the
usual for the very good reason that Henry Peters was a Prince, and
a Knight, and a Lover, and a Sweetheart, and her Man; she had just
agreed to all this with her soul, less than an hour ago under the
red haw.
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