ou?'

'I think God would forgive that,' I said. 'She must be tall and slim,
with dainty feet and hands, and a pair of big eyes, blue as a violet,
shaded with long dark lashes. And her hair must be wavy and light with a
little tinge of gold in it. And her cheek must have the pink of the rose
and dimples that show in laughter. And her voice--that must have music
in it and the ring of kindness and good-nature. And her lips--let them
show the crimson of her blood and be ready to give and receive a kiss
when I meet her.'

She sighed and nestled closer to me.

'If I let you kiss me just once,' she whispered, 'you will not ask me
again--will you?'

'No, sweetheart, I will not,' I answered. Then we gave each other such a
kiss as may be known once and only once in a lifetime.

'What would you do for the love of a girl like that?' she whispered.

I thought a moment, sounding depths of undiscovered woe to see if there
were anything I should hesitate to suffer and there was nothing.

'I'd lay me doun an' dee,' I said.

And I well remember how, when I lay dying, as I believed, in rain and
darkness on the bloody field of Bull Run, I thought of that moment and
of those words.

'I cannot say such beautiful things as you,' she answered, when I asked
her to describe her ideal. 'He must be good and he must be tall and
handsome and strong and brave.'

Then she sang a tender love ballad. I have often shared the pleasure of
thousands under the spell of her voice, but I have never heard her sing
as to that small audience on Faraway turnpike.

As we came near Rickard's Hall we could hear the fiddles and the calling
off.

The windows on the long sides of the big house were open. Long shafts of
light shot out upon the gloom. It had always reminded me of a picture
of Noah's ark that hung in my bedroom and now it seemed to be floating,
with resting oars of gold, in a deluge of darkness. We were greeted with
a noisy welcome, at the door. Many of the boys and girls came, from all
sides of the big hall, and shook hands with us. Enos Brown, whose
long forelocks had been oiled for the occasion and combed down so they
touched his right eyebrow, was panting in a jig that jarred the house.
His trouser legs were caught on the tops of his fine boots. He nodded to
me as I came in, snapped his fingers and doubled his energy. It was an
exhibition both of power and endurance. He was damp and apologetic when,
at length, he stopped with a mighty ba