Marilla Merritt was not like Mrs. Leah Bloodgood. Marilla was little where Leah was big, and nothing daunted Marilla. She was shaking a rug out on her sunny piazza, and descried the toiling figure while it was yet afar off.
“There's Leah Bloodgood coming, or my name's Sarah! _What_ is Leah Bloodgood out this time of day for, with the minister's dinner to get? Something is up.” She waved the rug gayly. “Mis' Merritt isn't at home!” she called; “she's out--on the door-steps shaking rugs! Leah Bloodgood,” as the figure drew near, “you look all tuckered out! Come in quick and sit down. Don't try to talk. You needn't tell me something's up--just say _what_. Has that blessed man been--”
“Yes, he has!” panted the caller, vindictively. It is harder to be long-suffering when one is out of breath. “You listen to this. I've brought his letter to read to you.”
“His letter!” Marilla could not have been much more astonished if the other had taken the minister himself out of her dangling black bag.
“Yes; it came this morn--Mercy! Marilla, don't look so amazed! Didn't you know he'd gone away on his vacation? He forgot it was next month instead of this, and I found him packing his things, and hadn't the heart to tell him. I thought a man with a pleased look like that on his face better _go_,--but, mercy! didn't I send you word? It _is_ catching. I shall be bad as he is.”
“Good as he is, do you mean? Don't worry about being that!” laughed little Marilla Merritt. “Well, I'm glad he's gone, dear man.”
“You won't be glad long, 'dear man'! Here's his letter. Take a long breath before you read it. I suppose I ought to prepare you, but I want you see how I felt.”
“I might count ten first,” deliberated smiling Marilla, fingering the white envelope with a certain tenderness. A certain tenderness and the minister went together with them all. “But, no, I'm going to sail right in.”
“Take your own risks, of course, but my advice is to reef all your main--er--jibsails first,” Mrs. Leah Bloodgood wearily murmured. “You'll find the sea choppy.”
“'Dear Sister Bloodgood,'” read Marilla, aloud, with reckless glibness, “'Will you be so kind as to send me my best suit? I am going to marry my old friend whom I have met here after twenty years. The wedding will take place next Wednesday morn--'