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Little Eve Edgarton

Creator: Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell, 1872-1958
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Poignantly from the forest he heard Eve Edgarton's voice calling out into the night. "Come--Mother's--horse! Come--Mother's--horse H--o--o, hoo! Come--come--come!" Softly above the crackle of twigs, the thud of a hoof, the creak of a saddle, he sensed the long, tremulous, answering whinny. Then almost like a silver apparition the girl's figure and the horse's seemed to merge together before him in the moonlight. "Well--of--all--things!" stammered Barton. "Oh, the horse is all right. I thought he'd stay 'round," called the girl. "But he's wild as a hawk--and it's going to be the dickens of a job, I'm afraid, to get you up." Half walking, half crawling, Barton emerged from the cave. "To get me up?" he scoffed. "Well, what do you think you're going to do?" Limply as he asked he sank back against the support of a tree. "Why, I think," drawled Eve Edgarton, "I think--very naturally--that you're going to ride--and I'm going to walk--back to the hotel." "Well, I am not!" snapped Barton. "Well, you are not!" he protested vehemently. "For Heaven's sake, Miss Edgarton, why don't you go scooting back on the gray and send a wagon or something for me?"
That Mainwaring Affair

THAT MAINWARING AFFAIR by Maynard Barbour CHAPTER I THE MAINWARINGS The fierce sunlight of a sultry afternoon in the early part of July forced its way through every crevice and cranny of the closely drawn shutters in the luxurious private offices of Mainwaring & Co., Stock Brokers, and slender shafts of light, darting here and there, lent a rich glow of color to the otherwise subdued tones of the elegant apartments. A glance at the four occupants of one of these rooms, who had disposed themselves in various attitudes according to their
"Why, because it would make--such a fuss," droned little Eve Edgarton drearily. "Doors would bang--and lights would blaze--and somebody'd scream--and--and--you make so much fuss when you're born," she said, "and so much fuss when you die--don't you think it's sort of nice to keep things as quietly to yourself as you can all the rest of your days?" "Yes, of course," acknowledged Barton. "But--" "But NOTHING!" stamped little Eve Edgarton with sudden passion. "Oh, Mr. Barton--won't you please hurry! It's almost dawn now! And the nice hotel cook is very sick in a cot bed. And I promised her faithfully this noon that I'd make four hundred muffins for breakfast!" "Oh, confound it!" said Barton. Stumblingly he reached the big gray's side. "But it's miles!" he protested in common decency. "Miles!--and miles! Rough walking, too, darned rough! And your poor little feet--" "I don't walk particularly with my 'poor little feet,'" gibed Eve Edgarton. "Most especially, thank you, Mr. Barton, I walk with my big wanting-to-walk!"