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Stockton, Frank Richard, 1834-1902

"The Magic Egg and Other Stories"

Why shouldn't I? I got into it. It was a better one
than that I had hung there. It was delightfully comfortable. At
this moment, gently swinging in that woodland solitude, with the
sweet odors of the morning all about me, I felt myself nearer to
her than I had ever been before.

But I knew I must not revel in this place too long. I was on
the point of rising to leave when I heard approaching footsteps.
My breath stopped. Was I at last to be discovered? This was
what came of my reckless security. But perhaps the person, some
workman most likely, would pass without noticing me. To remain
quiet seemed the best course, and I lay motionless.

But the person approaching turned into the little pathway.
The footsteps came nearer. I sprang from the hammock. Before me
was Miss Vincent!

What was my aspect I know not, but I have no doubt I turned
fiery red. She stopped suddenly, but she did not turn red.

"Oh, Mr. Ripley," she exclaimed, "good morning! You must
excuse me. I did not know--"

That she should have had sufficient self-possession to say
good morning amazed me. Her whole appearance, in fact, amazed
me. There seemed to be something wanting in her manner. I
endeavored to get myself into condition.

"You must be surprised," I said, "to see me here. You
supposed I was in Europe, but--"

As I spoke I made a couple of steps toward her, but suddenly
stopped. One of my coat buttons had caught in the meshes of the
hammock.


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