"Moonlight!" sniffed Sarah. "Moonlight!" There is no language to express
the disdain with which she spoke this word of philandering and
frivolity.
"Moonlight is very pretty," ventured the other. "I rather like it
myself."
"At _your_ time of life!" retorted Sister Sarah. "You are too
sentimental, Sister Ann, as well as too careless."
Thank Heaven they were going! The young man waited until their voices
died in the distance, then crept cautiously to the bank. He had to find
those dogs, and in a hurry. He had just seated himself to put on his
shoes for the search, when he again heard the voices of women and once
more plunged into the pool, like a monster yellow frog, as he reflected
he must seem to the squirrel in the tree.
"But, Aunt Matilda, how do you know?" he heard as he came up under the
willows. This new voice, sweet and limpid, belonged to a girl of such
striking appearance that the young man was on the point of forgetting
his dilemma--until that infernal mosquito settled down back of his ear
again!
"My dear Adnah," said a jerky little voice in answer, "your aunts,
remember, were all young once, and considered great beauties in their
day." There was a world of gentle pride in Aunt Matilda's voice as she
said this, and it sounded so well that she said it over again.
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