"Are you going to run away from me, too?"
he asked, at last.
"No," said Anna. Then, all at once, she burst out crying. "I can't
help it," she cried, between her sobs. "I can't help it. Don't look
at me."
"No," said Mr. Jeminy, "I won't." And he gazed up at the tree tops,
dark and sharp against the cold, gray sky.
Anna cried herself out. Then pale and ashamed, she started home again
with Mr. Jeminy. "I don't know what got into me," she said. "I don't
know what you'll think."
"I think," declared Mr. Jeminy, looking up at the sky, "I think--why, I
think this wet weather will pass, Anna Barly. Yes, to-morrow will be
cold and clear."
Anna did not answer him. She was tired; she had played, she had cried,
now she wanted to rest.
In Frye's General Store, Mr. Frye and Mr. Crabbe were disputing a game
of checkers. They sat opposite each other, stared at the checkerboard,
and stroked their chins. Farmer Barly stood watching them. He puffed
on his pipe, and nodded his head at every move. But all the while he
was thinking about Anna.
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