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Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your

step in the passage;

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For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing

and spinning."

Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought

of him had been mingled Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the

heart of the maiden, Silent before her he stood, and gave her the

flowers for an answer, Finding no words for his thought. He remem

bered that day in the winter, After the first great snow, when he broke a path

from the village, Reeling and plunging along through the drifts

that encumbered the doorway, Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered

the house, and Priscilla Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat

by the fireside, Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of

her in the snow-storm. Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had

he spoken; Now it was all too late; the golden moment had

vanished! So he stood there abashed, and gave her the

flowers for an answer.

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and

the beautiful Spring-time, Talked of their friends at home, and the May

flower that sailed on the morrow. “I have been thinking all day,” said gently the

Puritan maiden, "Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England,

They are in blossom now, and the country is all

like a garden; Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the

lark and the linnet, Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of

neighbors Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip

together, And, at the end of the street, the village church,

with the ivy Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves

in the churchyard. Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my

religion; Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back

in Old England. You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it:

I almost

Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely

and wretched.”

Thereupon answered the youth :"Indeed I do

not condemn you; Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in

this terrible winter. Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger

to lean on; So I have come to you now, with an offer and

proffer of marriage Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the

Captain of Plymouth!”

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous

writer of letters, Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in

beautiful phrases, But came straight to the point, and blurted it out

like a schoolboy; Even the Captain himself could hardly have said

it more bluntly. Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the

Puritan maiden

Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with

wonder, Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her

and rendered her speechless;

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Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the

ominous silence: If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very

eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the

trouble to woo me?

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