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 for me when I am revelling in the gaudy, but hollow, pleasures of Bohemia.”

“Get a towel, Dory,” said Beriah, “and wipe that paint off your face. I came as soon as I got your letter. Them pictures of yours ain’t amounting to anything. I’ve got tickets for both of us back on the evening train. Hurry and get your things in your trunk.”

“Fate was too strong for me, Beriah. Go while I am strong to bear it.”

“How do you fold this easel, ’Dory?—now begin to pack, so we have time to eat before train time. The maples is all out in full-grown leaves, ’Dory—you just ought to see ’em!”

“Not this early, Beriah?”

“You ought to see ’em, ’Dory; they’re like an ocean of green in the morning sunlight.”

“Oh, Beriah!”

On the train she said to him suddenly:

“I wonder why you came when you got my letter.”.

“Oh, shucks!” said Beriah. “Did you think you could fool me? How could you be run away to that Bohemia country like you said when your letter was postmarked New York as plain as day?”