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Stockton, Frank Richard, 1834-1902

"The Magic Egg and Other Stories"

After considering the
matter, I thought of something that might suit me. About three
miles from my house, on an unfrequented road, was a mill which
stood at the end of an extensive sheet of water, in reality a
mill-pond, but commonly called a lake. The miller, an old man,
had recently died, and his house near by was occupied by a
newcomer whom I had never seen. If I could get accommodations
there it would suit me exactly. I left the train two stations
below Boynton and walked over to the mill.

The country-folk in my neighborhood are always pleased to
take summer boarders if they can get them, and the miller and his
wife were glad to give me a room, not imagining that I was the
owner of a good house not far away. The place suited my
requirements very well. It was near her, and I might live here
for a time unnoticed, but what I was going to do with my
opportunity I did not know. Several times the conviction forced
itself upon me that I should get up at once and go to Europe by
the first steamer, and so show myself that I was a man of sense.

This conviction was banished on the second afternoon of my
stay at the mill. I was sitting under a tree in the orchard
near the house, thinking and smoking my pipe, when along the road
which ran by the side of the lake came Mr. Vincent on my black
horse General and his daughter on my mare Sappho. Instinctively
I pulled my straw hat over my eyes, but this precaution was not
necessary. They were looking at the beautiful lake, with its
hills and overhanging trees, and saw me not!

When the very tip of Sappho's tail had melted into the
foliage of the road, I arose to my feet and took a deep breath of
the happy air.


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