“All alike, Molly; all as much alike as peas in a pod; all except John Moore, who’s the only exception in all the male tribe I ever met!  His marrying once was just accidental and must be forgiven him.  She fell in love with him while he was attending her when she had typhoid, when his back was turned as it were, and it was simple kindness in him that made him marry her when he found out how it was with the poor thing.  There’s not a woman in this town who could marry that wouldn’t marry him at the drop of his hat—­but, thank goodness, that hat will never drop, and I’ll have one sensible man to comfort and doctor me down into my old age.  Now, just look at that!  Mr. Johnson’s come home here in the middle of the morning, and I’ll have to get that old paper I hunted out of his desk for him last night.  I wonder how he came to forget it!”

It’s funny how Mrs. Johnson always knows what Mr. Johnson wants before he knows himself and gets it before he asks for it!

As she went out of the gate the postman came in, and at the sight of another letter my heart slunk off into my slippers, and my brain seemed about to back up in a corner and refuse to work.  In a flash it came to me that men oughtn’t to write letters to women very much—­they really don’t plough deep enough, they just irritate the top soil.  I took this missive from Alfred, counted all the fifteen pages, put it out of sight under a book, looked out of the window and saw Mr. Johnson shooed off down the street by Mrs. Johnson; saw the doctor’s car go chugging hurriedly in the garage, and then my spirit turned itself to the wall and refused to be comforted.  I tried my best, but failed to respond to my own remonstrances with myself, and tears were slowly gathering in a cloud of gloom when a blue gingham, romper-clad sunbeam burst into the room.

“Git your night-gown and your tooth-bresh quick, Molly, if you want to pack ’em in my trunk!” he exclaimed with his eyes dancing and a curl standing straight up on the top of his head, as it has a habit of doing when he is most excited.  “You can’t take nothing but them ’cause I’m going to put in a rope to tie the whale with when I ketch him, and it’ll take up all the rest of the room.  Git ’em quick!”

“Yes, lover, I’ll get them for you, but tell Molly where it is you are going to sail off with her in that trunk of yours?” I asked, dropping into the game as I have always done with him, no matter what game of my own pressed when he called.

“On the ocean where the boats go ’cross and run right over a whale.  Don’t you remember you showed me them pictures of spout whales in a book, Molly?  Father says they comes right up by the ship and you can hear ’em shoot water and maybe a iceberg, too.  Which do you want to ketch’ most, Molly, a iceberg or a whale?” His eager eyes demanded instant decision on my part of the nature of capture I preferred.  My mind quickly reverted to those two ponderous and intense epistles I had got within the hour, and I lay back in my chair and laughed until I felt almost merry.