Then he drew a sigh.
"Well," he concluded, "that's our luck. We al'ays come out the leetle
end o' the horn. Abby'll be real put out. She 'lotted on it. Well,
John's inside there. He's buyin' up 'bout everything there is. You'll
git more'n you would with us."
He drove gloomily away, and Lucy Ann stepped into the store, musing.
She was rather sorry not to go to Ezra's, if he cared.
It almost seemed as if she might ask John to let her take the plainer
way. John would understand. She saw him at once where he stood,
prosperous and hale, in his great-coat, reading items from a long
memorandum, while Jonathan Stevens weighed and measured. The store
smelled of spice, and the clerk that minute spilled some cinnamon. Its
fragrance struck upon Lucy Ann like a call from some far-off garden, to
be entered if she willed. She laid a hand on her brother's arm, and her
lips opened to words she had not chosen:--
"John, you shouldn't ha' drove away so quick, t'other day. You jest
flung out your invitation 'n' run. You never give me no time to answer.
Ezra's asked me to go there."
"Well, if that ain't smart!" returned John. "Put in ahead, did he?
Well, I guess it's the fust time he ever got round. I'm terrible sorry,
Lucy.
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