To all of us."
It was sweet to both of them, to her to declare and to him to
hear, that neither Tom nor any other possessed her heart. Their
shy glances were like an outreach of tenderly touching hands as
she confided, "Mrs. Arty and he get up picnics, and when we're
out on the Palisades he says to me--you know, sometimes he
almost makes me think he _is_ sleepy, though I do believe he just
sneaks off under a tree and talks to Mrs. Arty or reads a
magazine--but I was saying: he always says to me, 'Well, sister,
I suppose you want to mousey round and dream by yourself--you
won't talk to a growly old bear like me. Well, I'm glad of it.
I want to sleep. I don't want to be bothered by you and your
everlasting chatter. Get out!' I b'lieve he just says that
'cause he knows I wouldn't want to run off by myself if they
didn't think it was proper."
As he heard her lively effort to imitate Tom's bass Mr. Wrenn
laughed and pounded his knee and agreed: "Yes, Tom's an awfully
fine fellow, isn't he!... I love to get out some place by
myself, too.
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