ridin' all right, Sally," agreed Dan placidly. "Yonder's
the same old buggy and the same old horse and the same old road, but the
ridin' would be mighty different from the ridin' we had before we got
married. Before we started, we'd have to canvass this crowd and find
somebody to take care of the children, and after we started, we'd both
be wonderin' if Sarah wasn't drowned in the creek, and if Daniel hadn't
been kicked by somebody's horse, and I don't believe there'd be much
pleasure in such a ride."

"I reckon you're right," said Sally, laughing with the rest. "And that's
why I say let young people alone; they're seein' their best days. Dan
courted for me six months, and if I had to live my life over again, I'd
make it six years."

Sally was one of those daring spirits who do not hesitate to say what
others scarce venture to think.

"Maybe I wouldn't 'a' held out," observed Dan. "Courtin's mighty wearin'
work, and I ain't a Jacob by any manner o' means."

"Well, if you hadn't held out," said Sally recklessly, "somebody else
would 'a' taken it up where you left off. Oh! you women needn't say a
word. If you want to pretend you like dish-washin' and cookin' and
mendin' better than courtin', you're welcome to do it. But if I was just
young again, I wouldn't get married till I was too old to be courted,
for courtin' time's the only time a woman sees any peace and happiness.
You, Daniel! You, Sally! Get up out of that dusty road."

"Mary," said John Crawford, in a low voice, "you get your things
together, and we'll follow Matty's example."

Mary hesitated. Conscience said, "Stay to preaching"; but the laughing
and talk had grown wearisome to her, and the strange feeling in her head
had returned. So before the hour for the second service came, they stole
quietly away, their rockaway wheels cutting the trail left by the erring
young people who had gone before them.

The way to the bridge was a shady avenue, the trees in that rich
alluvial soil growing to extraordinary height and grandeur, and in the
comfortable homes and well-tilled farms there was a cheerful presentment
of the legendary "Man with the Hoe." Only one melancholy spot by the
roadside marred the traveler's pleasure. It was a country graveyard,
walled around with stone, surmounted with an iron railing to protect it
from the desecrating tread of beast or man. Nearly a century ago the
hand of some woman had planted on one of the graves a spray of myrtle
and