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breath, metaphorically speaking- We
didn't know whom to watch, but
finally decided that it would certainly
be William who would go to Libby
and. not Libby wha wpnjd visit Wil
liam. So, haying-calcula'tea that fie
might be expected tb "arrive the foP
lowing afternoon,, we ensconced our
selves some half a dozen of us be
hind the hedge across the road and
Presently we saw, .sure enough, Mr.
Tabor's buggy comifig at breakneck
speed down the road in a cloud ,of
dust He pulled in the horse outside
the" gate and hitched it to the fence.
Then he got out and went in-, walk
ing very quickly. He rang the bell
and Miss Libby came to the door.
But I had never seen Miss Libby
look as she did then. All the sour
ness had gone out of her face, and
she was dressed like a young girl, in
that absurd old-fashioned dress with
the hanging sleeves. There, was color
in her cheeks, too, and she was smil
ing. And as she stood there looking
at him and smiling up at him, he took
her in his arms and kissed her.
That was enough for us. We were
all thoroughly scared. We took to
our heels and ran as hard as we could
go. We couldn't go anywhere after
reaching the village without attract
ing attention, so we separated and
went to our homes.
"Well, lady, there's news in the
village," said my father, when he
came home that night.
"I know, dear," said my mother,
smiling. "Libby Arliss and Will Ta
bor have made up again."
"Trust a woman for finding out
these things," my father said. "Well,
I'd always hoped It would come to
pass, but I never thought it would be
in just that way. It seems that she
had written him a- letter two years
ago, when he returned, and he found
it, unopened,, yesterday evening,
among a lot of old papers that his
"Oh, no," I blurted out; "she wrote
to him yesterday, and he wrote to
her,. ,At least I mean "
"What do you mean?" Inquired my
father, sternly. "How do you know
about these, things?" ' -
"Oh, I sort of gueSsedf I suppose,"
if answered, blushing.
The' next morning I met ' Steve
Marks and he caught me by the
"What do you think,?" he, exclaim
ed, indignantly. "Sylvia Tempte has
just confessed that those letters
neyei? reached thepuat all-" t ' .
"What? Wh?" 1 shouted. $ -
''Because sTielmeaked'hlfiig the
postbffice after we had gone and
fished them out with a pieceof stick
with a fish hook in the end, and tore
them up that's why."
"Then how did it happen?" I asked,
for my father's explanation did: not
seem quite true.
"I'm blessed if I knpjv," he answer
ed, scratching his head, and at -that
moment who shouldonie.alongut
Miss Libby herself. "She-1bokejIten
years younger, and she smiled, so
prettily she gave me guite a scaje.
"So you boys know all about- it. I
see," she said, when we blurted out
our congratulations. . "I can't begin
to tell you how happy I am and and,
wen, I guess I've been a pretty
crabbed sort of woman for a long
time. But now I wan you all to
come into my garden this afternoon
and pick as many pears as you can
carry away. They're just about ripe."
Well, you could have knocked me
downwith a feather, for I had. had
those 'pears on my mind all day. ')
"Pooh, that's nothing!" said Sylvia;
when I asked her opinion. "It's just
what my mother calls mental sug"
gestion. Don't you see? We imag
ined those letters and we imagined",
the pears, and both came true."
But the pears were .certainly fine.
I did all sorts of imagining after that,'
and some of it came true, and some
didn't. The best thing that came
true was when I imagined .that Sylvia
and I were sweethearts.
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.),