"Yes," the old man remarked, "we both have the same name. The fact
is, Jacob and I are a sort of relations."
Jacob, in spite of his new happiness, continued ill at ease,
although he could not help seeing how his father brightened under
Susan's genial influence, how satisfied he was with her quick,
neat, exact ways and the cheerfulness with which she fulfilled her
duties. At the end of a week, the old man counted out the wages
agreed upon for both, and his delight culminated at the frank
simplicity with which Susan took what she supposed she had fairly
earned.
"Jacob," he whispered when she had left the room, "keep quiet one
more week, and then I'll let her know."
He had scarcely spoken, when Susan burst into the room again,
crying, "Jacob, they are coming, they have come!"
"Who?"
"Father and mother; and we didn't expect them, you know, for a week
yet."
All three went to the door as the visitors made their appearance on
the veranda. Two of the party stood as if thunderstruck, and two
exclamations came together:
"Samuel Flint!"
"Lucy Wheeler!"
There was a moment's silence; then the farmer's wife, with a
visible effort to compose herself, said, "Lucy Meadows, now.
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