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Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. “Dear John,” she whispered. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks.
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