"D'know."

"Say, be they courtin'?"

Hepsey left her work in the garden and came toward the front of the
house. "They walk out some," she said, when she was halfway to the gate,
"and they set up a good deal, and Miss Thorne told me she didn't know as
she'd do better, but you can't rightly say they're courtin' 'cause city
ways ain't like our'n."

The deep colour dyed Ruth's face and her hands twitched nervously.
Winfield very much desired to talk, but could think of nothing to say.
The situation was tense.

Joe clucked to his horses. "So long," he said. "See yer later."

Ruth held her breath until he passed them, and then broke down. Her self
control was quite gone, and she sobbed bitterly, in grief and shame.
Winfield tucked his handkerchief into her cold hands, not knowing what
else to do.

"Don't!" he said, as if he, too, had been hurt. "Ruth, dear, don't cry!"

A new tenderness almost unmanned him, but he sat still with his hands
clenched, feeling like a brute because of her tears.

The next few minutes seemed like an hour, then Ruth raised her head and
tried to smile. "I expect you think I'm silly," she said, hiding her
tear stained face again.

"No!" he cried, sharply; then, with a catch in his throat, he put his
hand on her shoulder.

"Don't!" she sobbed, turning away from him, "what--what they said--was
bad enough!"

The last words ended in a rush of tears, and, sorely distressed, he
began to walk back and forth. Then a bright idea came to him.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said.

When he returned, he had a tin dipper, freshly filled with cold water.
"Don't cry any more," he pleaded, gently, "I'm going to bathe your
face."

Ruth leaned back against the tree and he knelt beside her. "Oh, that
feels so good," she said, gratefully, as she felt his cool fingers
upon her burning eyes. In a little while she was calm again, though her
breast still heaved with every fluttering breath.

"You poor little woman," he said, tenderly, "you're just as nervous as
you can be. Don't feel so about it. Just suppose it was somebody who
wasn't!"

"Who wasn't what?" asked Ruth, innocently.

Winfield crimsoned to the roots of his hair and hurled the dipper into
the distance.

"What--what--they said," he stammered, sitting down awkwardly. "Oh,
darn it!" He kicked savagely at a root, and added, in bitterest self
accusation, "I'm a chump, I am!"

"No you're not," returned Ruth, with sweet shyness, "you're nice.