oel Eperson would have known
what was proper and have acted quicker.

"Excuse me," the poor fellow stammered, his eyes on hers. He had never
used such words before and they sounded as strange to him as if they had
belonged to a foreign tongue.

"Excuse you, why?" she inquired, perplexed.

"Because--because I didn't open the gate for you," he replied. "I wasn't
thinking."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," she answered, evidently pleased, and there
was something in her eyes that he had never seen there before. Her face
seemed to fill with a warm light, and her pretty lips were slightly
parted. They walked on. The chicken-house, a shack with a lean-to roof
against the barn, was near and he stood by her as she looked in at the
open door.

"One of the planks they roost on fell down," she explained. "Too many of
them got on it. They will huddle together, warm as it is."

"I can fix it," he proposed, "but I'd have to have a light."

Tilly hesitated, looking again into the shack. There was a low chirping
from the perches overhead.

"Never mind to-night," she said. "They have found new places and will
soon settle down."

She turned back, facing him, and slowly they started toward the house.
This time she took his arm without being asked, and the act gave him
additional delight. He allowed the natural weight of his arm to gently
press her hand against his side and she did not resent it. In fact, he
felt as if her touch was responsive. The moonlight fell on her bare head
and played in her wonderful hair, upon which the moisture of the night
was settling. Half-way between the barn and the house there was an
empty road-wagon. Its massive tongue stood out straight a foot or so
above the ground. To his wonderment, Tilly sat down on it, thrusting her
little feet out in front of her.

"Let's sit here," she said. "They won't be back for some time yet."

He complied, his wonder and delight growing. They were silent. Finally
she spoke again.

"You are the strangest man I ever saw," she said, looking into his face
with her calm, probing eyes.

"Am I?" he asked. "Why, how so?"

"I don't know," she made answer, thoughtfully, and she locked her little
hands in her lap and looked down. "I can't make you out. You are so--so
gentle and tender with me. You are a mystery, a deep mystery. You don't
seem to take to women in general, and yet, and yet with me--" She sighed
and broke off abruptly.

In his all but dazed delight he could not