"Oh, it was awful!" she exclaimed; "one day a foul ball
hit the fence, and I jumped down and threw it to you, and you
said, Thank you, sis! And I," she cried, "thought I was a young
lady!"
"Oh! I couldn't have said that," protested Winthrop, "maybe I
said sister."
"No," declared Vera energetically shaking her head, "not
sister, sis. And you never did look at me; and I used to drive
past your house every day. We lived only a mile below you."
"Where?" asked Winthrop.
"On the lake road from Syracuse," said Vera. "Don't you remember
the farm a mile below yours -- the one with the red barn right
on the road? Yes, you do," she insisted, "the cows were always
looking over the fence right into the road."
"Of course!" exclaimed Winthrop delightedly. "Was that your
house?"
"Oh, no," protested Vera, "ours was the little cottage on the
other side -- "
"With poplars round it?" demanded Winthrop.
"That's it!" cried Vera triumphantly, "with poplars round it."
"Why, I know that house well. We boys used to call it the
haunted house."
"That's the one," assented Vera. She smiled with satisfaction.
"Well, that's where I lived until Aunt died," she said.
"And then, what?" asked Winthrop.
For a moment the girl did not answer. Her face had grown grave
and she sat motionless, staring beyond her. Suddenly, as though
casting her thoughts from her, she gave a sharp toss of her
head.
"Then," she said, speaking quickly, "I went into the mills, and
was ill there, and I wrote Paul and Mabel to ask if I could join
them, and they said I could.
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