CHAPTER XXV.

BUD WOOING.

The Sunday that Ralph spent in Lewisburg, the Sunday that Shocky spent
in an earthly paradise, the Sunday that Mrs. Thomson spent with Shocky
instead of old Mowley, the Sunday that Miss Nancy thought was "just like
heaven," was also an eventful Sunday with Bud Means. He had long adored
Miss Martha in his secret heart, but, like many other giants, while
brave enough to face and fight dragons, he was a coward in the presence
of the woman that he loved. Let us honor him for it. The man who loves a
woman truly, reverences her profoundly and feels abashed in her
presence. The man who is never abashed in the presence of womanhood, the
man who tells his love without a tremor, is a shallow egotist. Bud's
nature was not fine. But it was deep, true, and manly. To him Martha
Hawkins was the chief of women. What was he that he should aspire to
possess her? And yet on that Sunday, with his crippled arm carefully
bound up, with his cleanest shirt, and with his heavy boots freshly
oiled with the fat of the raccoon, he started hopefully through fields
white with snow to the house of Squire Hawkins. When he started his
spirits were high, but they descended exactly in proportion to his
proximity to the object of his love. He thought himself not dressed well
enough He wished his shoulders were not so square, and his arms not so
stout. He wished that he had book-larnin' enough to court in nice, big
words. And so, by recounting his own deficiencies, he succeeded in
making himself feel weak, and awkward, and generally good-for-nothing,
by the time he walked up between the rows of dead hollyhocks to the
Squire's front door, to tap at which took all his remaining strength.

Miss Martha received her perspiring lover most graciously, but this only
convinced Bud more than ever that she was a superior being. If she had
slighted him a bit, so as to awaken his combativeness, his bashfulness
might have disappeared.

It was in vain that Martha inquired about his arm and complimented his
courage. Bud could only think of his big feet, his clumsy hands, and his
slow tongue. He answered in monosyllables, using his red silk
handkerchief diligently.

"Is your arm improving?" asked Miss Hawkins.

"Yes, I think it is," said Bud, hastily crossing his right leg over his
left, and trying to get his fists out of sight.

"Have you heard from Mr. Pearson?"

"No, I ha'n't," answered Bud, removing his right foot to the floor
ag