"Have you ever tried prayin' over it?"
"No, I've never tried that, because you see, I don't really mind it very
much. Please give me my glove now, here is Judy's cottage."
"But promise me first that you'll try prayin' over your state of mind,
an' that I may go on hopin' that you will change it?"
Turning with her hand still outstretched for the glove, she glanced
roguishly from his face to the shuttered window of the Hatch cottage.
"Oh, I don't mind your hoping," she answered, composing her expression
to demureness, "if only you won't hope--very hard."
Then, leaving him overwhelmed by his emotions, she tripped up the
narrow walk, bordered by stunted rose-bushes, to the crumbling porch of
Solomon's house. At the door a bright new gig, with red wheels, caught
her eye, and before the mischievous dimples had fled from her cheek, she
ran into the arms of the Reverend Orlando Mullen.
Her confusion brought a beautiful colour into his cheeks, while, in a
chivalrous effort to shield her from further embarrassment, he turned
his eyes to the face of Judy Hatch, which was lifted at his side like
the rapt countenance of one of the wan-featured, adoring saints of a Fra
Angelico painting.
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