are so bright."

"I'm not anything of the sort. Give me the jug and let me go on by
myself if you are goin' to make fun of me."

She reached for the jug and he caught her hand, and walking along, held
it.

"I wouldn't want to hold anybody's hand that I'd made fun of," she said,
striving, though gently, to pull it away.

"I didn't make fun of you. I said you were bright and you are. To me you
are the brightest thing in the world. Whenever I dream of you I awake
with my eyes dazzled."

"Oh, you don't, no such of a thing."

They saw a wagon coming, and he dropped her hand. He stepped to the
right, she to the left, and the wagon passed between them. She looked
at him in alarm. "That's bad luck," she said.

"What is?"

"To let anything pass between us."

"Oh, it doesn't make any difference."

"Yes, it does," she insisted. "No, you mustn't take my hand
again--you've let something pass between us."

He awkwardly grabbed after her hand. She held it behind her, and about
her waist he pressed his arm. "Oh, don't do that. Somebody might see
us."

"I don't care if the whole world sees us."

"You say that now, but after awhile you'll care."

"Never as long as I live. You know I love you."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"You might say you do, but you don't. But even if you do love me now you
won't always."

"Yes, as long as I live."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were full of beauty and tenderness.
"Your mother----"

"None of that," he broke in. "I am my own master. To me you are the most
beautiful creature in the world, and----"

"Somebody's comin'," she said.

A horseman came round a bend in the road, and he stepped off from her,
but they did not permit the horseman to pass between them. He did not
put his arm about her again, for now they were within sight of her
uncle's desolate house. They saw Wash Sanders sitting on the verandah.
Tom carried the jug as far as the yard gate.

"Won't you come in?" Sanders called.

"I ought to be getting back, I guess."

"Might come in and rest awhile."

Tom hesitated a moment and then passed through the gate. The girl had
run into the house.

"How are you getting along?" the young man asked as he began slowly to
tramp up the steps.

"Porely, mighty porely. Thought I was gone last night--didn't sleep a
wink. And I don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive."

"Wouldn't you like a mess of young squirrels?" Tom asked, as he sat down
in a hickory rocking