That he talked more.
That he never thundered--I mean spoke stern and uncompromising to
Cousin Grace the way he used to to Aunt Jane.
That he smiled more.
That he wasn't so absent-minded at meals and other times, but seemed
to know we were there--Cousin Grace and I.
That he actually asked Cousin Grace and me to play for him several
times.
That he went with us to the Sunday-School picnic. (I never saw Father
at a picnic before, and I don't believe he ever saw himself at one.)
That--oh, I don't know, but a whole lot of little things that I can't
remember; but they were all unmistakable, very unmistakable. And I
wondered, when I saw it all, that I _had_ been as blind as a bat
before.
Of course, I was glad--glad he's going to marry her, I mean. I was
glad for everybody; for Father and Cousin Grace, for they would be
happy, of course, and he wouldn't be lonesome any more. And I was glad
for Mother because I knew she'd be glad that he'd at last found the
good, kind woman to make a home for him. And, of course, I was glad
for myself, for I'd much rather have Cousin Grace here than Aunt Jane,
and I knew she'd make the best new mother of any of them. And last,
but not least, I'm glad for the book, because now I've got a love
story sure.
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