Sucks books

"Pretty,--isn't it?" said Kate.
"Very,--quite pastoral," sniffed I.
We were sitting round the open door an hour after, listening to a
whippoorwill, and watching the slow moon rise over a hilly range just
east of Centreville, when that elvish little "week! week!" piped out
of the wood that lay behind the house.
"That is hopeful," said Kate; "I think Melindy and George must have
tracked the turkeys to their haunt, and scared them homeward."
"George--who?" said Peggy.
"George Bemont; it seems he is--what is your Connecticut
phrase?--sparkin' Melindy."
"I'm very glad; he is a clever fellow," said Peter.
"And she is such a very pretty girl," continued Peggy,--"so
intelligent and graceful; don't you think so, Sam?"
"Aw, yes, well enough for a rustic," said I, languidly. "I never could
endure red hair, though!"
Kate stopped on the door-sill; she had risen to go up stairs.
"Gobble! gobble! gobble!" mocked she. I had heard that once before!
Peter and Peggy roared;--they knew it all;--I was sold!
"Cure me of Kate Stevens?" Of course it did.


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