"Since I have conquered Captain Bodine," he muttered, with a little
resolute nod of his head: "I will subdue my own paternal ancestor; then
the way will be open for a siege of the fair citadel, the peerless little
baker. No wonder her cakes seemed all sugar and spice." Thus George often
mused, complacently regardless of the incongruous terms bestowed upon Ella
in his thoughts.
Sometimes these reveries brought smiles to his face, and more than once he
started and flushed as he observed his father looking at him searchingly
yet wistfully.
Meanwhile he scarcely left the old man night or day. He slept on a cot by
his side, and at the slightest movement was awake, and ready to anticipate
wishes before they could be spoken. On the last day of August his father
was well enough to be up and dressed most of the forenoon.
George began to read the beloved Boston papers, but Mr. Houghton soon
said: "That will do, I'm in no mood for dog-day politics. Go off and amuse
yourself, as long as you don't go near the harbor."
"I've no wish to go out, father. When the sun is low I'll take a tramp of
a mile or two."
"In a week or so more I think I'll be able to travel, George."
"I hope so."
"I fear you don't wish to leave Charleston."
"I wish to do what is best for your health."
Then a long silence followed, each busy with his own thoughts.
At last Mr. Houghton said: "It's strange we've heard nothing from those
Bodines.
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