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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"


"Of course, you must!" he agreed, and bent quickly to the task of
clearing her violet bed of entangled vines. In ten minutes his strong
hand had done the work of an hour for her slender fingers.
"How swiftly and beautifully you work, Ned!" she exclaimed as he rose
with face flushed and gazed a moment admiringly on the witchery of her
exquisite figure.
"How would you like me for a steady gardener?"
"I hope you're not going to lose your job on your brother's paper?"
"It's possible."
"Why?"
"We don't agree on politics."
"A reporter don't have to agree with an editor. He only obeys orders."
"That's it," Ned answered, with a firm snap of his strong jaw. "I'm not
going to take orders from this Government many more days from the
present outlook."
Betty looked him straight in the eye in silence and slowly asked:
"You're not really going to join the rebels?"
The slender boyish figure suddenly straightened and his lips quivered:
"Perhaps."
"You can't mean it!" she cried incredulously.
"Would you care?" he asked slowly.
"Very much," was the quick answer. "I should be shocked and disappointed
in you. I've never believed for a moment that you meant what you said. I
thought you were only debating the question from the Southern side."
"Tell me," Ned broke in, "does your father mean half he says about
Lincoln and the South?"
"Every word he says.


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