pear-tree hung. Hard by in the wall was a grated wicket door that seemed
unused.
Would she appear among the boughs or on the edge of the wall? Either
would be like the old Susy. But to his surprise he heard the sound
of the key turning in the lock. The grated door suddenly swung on its
hinges, and Susy slipped out. Grasping his hand, she said, "Let's run,
Clarence," and before he could reply she started off with him at a rapid
pace. Down the lane they flew--very much, as it seemed to Clarence's
fancy, as they had flown from the old emigrant wagon on the prairie,
four years before. He glanced at the fluttering, fairy-like figure
beside him. She had grown taller and more graceful; she was dressed in
exquisite taste, with a minuteness of luxurious detail that bespoke
the spoilt child; but there was the same prodigal outburst of rippling,
golden hair down her back and shoulders, violet eyes, capricious little
mouth, and the same delicate hands and feet he had remembered. He would
have preferred a more deliberate survey, but with a shake of her head
and an hysteric little laugh she only said, "Run, Clarence, run," and
again darted forward. Arriving at the cross-street, they turned the
corner, and halted breathlessly.
"But you're not running away from school, Susy, are you?" said Clarence
anxiously.
"Only a little bit. Just enough to get ahead of the other girls," she
said, rearranging her brown curls and tilted hat. "You see, Clarence,"
she condescended to explain, with a sudden assumption of older
superiority, "mother's here at the hotel all this week, and I'm allowed
to go home every night, like a day scholar. Only there's three or
four other girls that go out at the same time with me, and one of the
Sisters, and to-day I got ahead of 'em just to see YOU."
"But" began Clarence.
"Oh, it's all right; the other girls knew it, and helped me. They don't
start out for half an hour yet, and they'll say I've just run ahead, and
when they and the Sister get to the hotel I'll be there already--don't
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