"
"She's a hussy," said Marie.
I don't know whether you would call that a bull or a bear movement on
the Diston stock, but it went up--I could see that.
A week later Miles was able to come down to our house for dinner, and my
wife asked Marie to come also. I met her at the depot, and after she was
safe in the buggy, I told her that Miles was up at the house. She nearly
jumped out; but I quieted her, and told her she mustn't notice or say a
word about Miles's game leg, as he was extremely sensitive about it.
My wife was in the kitchen, and I went to the barn to put out the horse.
Marie went to the sitting-room to avoid the parlor and Miles, but he was
there, I guess, and Marie found her hero, for when they came out to
dinner he had his arm around her. They were married a month later, and
went to Washington, stopping to see us on the way back.
As I came home that night with my patent dinner pail, and with two rows
of wrinkles and a load of responsibility on my brow, Marie shook her
fist in my face and called me "an old story-teller."
"Story-teller," said I; "what story?"
"Oh, what story? That _leg_ story, of course, you old cheat.
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