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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Mary Marston"

She bent her head to the blast, and walked on.
She had no desire for shelter. She would like to get wet to the
skin, take a violent cold, go into a consumption, and die in a
fortnight. The wind whistled about her bonnet, dashed the rain-
drops clanging on the drum-tight silk of her parasol, and made of
her skirts fetters and chains. She could hardly get along, and
was just going to take down her parasol, when suddenly, where was
neither house nor hedge nor tree, came a lull. For from behind,
over head and parasol, had come an umbrella, and now came a voice
and an audible sigh of pleasure.
"I little thought when I left home this afternoon," said the
voice, "that I should have such a happiness before night!"
At the sound of the voice Letty gave a cry, which ran through all
the shapes of alarm, of surprise, of delight; and it was not much
of a cry either.
"O Tom!" she said, and clasped the arm that held the umbrella.
How her foolish heart bounded! Here was help when she had sought
none, and where least she had hoped for any! Her aunt would have
her run from under the umbrella at once, no doubt, but she would
do as she pleased this time. Here was Tom getting as wet as a
spaniel for her sake, and counting it a happiness! Oh, to have a
friend like that--all to herself! She would not reject such a
friend for all the aunts in creation. Besides, it was her aunt's
own fault; if she had let her stay with Mary, she would not have
met Tom.


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