hingly, "you have actually inveigled me into
confessing my age, and that, you know, is what no woman likes to
do--especially when, as I suspect to be the case here, the woman is
several years older than the man. I am forgetting, too, to do the
honors of our spring, which is said to be the largest and most
unfailing in Kentucky--at any rate, it is known all through this
section as 'the big spring.' Boone declared this water to be the
coolest in the State. I wish it was like that magical fountain of
Lethe, and that a draught from it could make me forget my old life.
But, there! I will not look back, although your reminder of that
Assembly ball has stirred old memories to the depths. That road out
there was once a buffalo trail, and the buffaloes, doubtless, always
stopped at this spring to quench their thirst--at least, old hunters
declare that this was their favorite camping-ground. It was also a
favorite resort of the Indians, and a battle was fought here between
them and the white settlers, before the terrible massacre at Bluelicks
had aroused the whites to determined and well-organized resistance and
war of extermination. You should get old Mr. Lucky or Mr. Houston to
describe the battle at this spot--they were in it. But now you must
drink of this spring before you can be properly considered a member of
this community in 'good standing and full fellowship."

"See!" she added, offering him a drink from an old gourd kept in a
cleft of the rock for the use of chance passers-by. "This water is
almost ice-cold--and just look at this mint. Uncle Hiram declares it to
be the finest flavored he ever tasted. He never comes here without
carrying away some for his morning julep. I will take a handful to stow
away in the lunch-basket; it will save him a trip here after service
this afternoon."

Before drawing on her lace "half-hand" mitts, she held out her hands,
and asked him to pour water from the gourd upon them. Then she drew
from the swinging pocket at her belt a tiny embroidered square, but
before she could use it, Abner rescued it, and, substituting his own
handkerchief, dried her hands himself. Her loose sleeves fell back to
the dimpled elbows, and as he lingered over his task, he noted the
delicate tracery of blue veins along the inner curve of her white arms.
He saw, too, the freckles upon her rounded wrists, and that her
well-formed hands were sun-browned and hardened by work.

"Are you counting the freckles?" she a