Just wait here a minute, please," and with that she turned and ran into the house.
I had liked the doctor's daughter ever since I had begun to know her, although at first I had found it a little hard to become acquainted with her.
She was the treasurer of the literary society of the village, and I was its secretary.

We had to work together sometimes, and I found her a very straightforward girl in her accounts and in every other way.
In about a minute she returned, carrying a little pasteboard box.
"Here are some one-grain quinine capsules," she said.

"They have no taste, and I am quite sure that if you get into a low country it would be a good thing for you to take at least one of them every morning.
People may have given you all sorts of things for your journey, but I do not believe any one has given you this." And she handed me the box over the top of the gate.
I did not say that her practical little present was the only thing that anybody had given me, but I thanked her very heartily, and assured her that I would take one every time I thought I needed it.
Then, as it seemed proper to do so, I straightened up my bicycle as if I would mount it.

Again her fingers clutched the top of the two palings.
"When father comes home," she said, "he will be sorry to find that he had not a chance to bid you good-bye.

And, by-the-way," she added, quickly, "you know there will be one more meeting of the society.