and plants near the walk that had
been trampled upon during the wedding festivities. But Kate must have seen
a good deal that went on.

David took up the reins, settled himself with a smile at Marcia, touched
the horse with the tip of the whip, which caused him to spring forward in
astonishment--that from David! No horse in town would have expected it of
him. They had known him from babyhood, most of them, and he was gentleness
itself. It must have been a mistake. But the impression lasted long enough
to carry them a rod or two past the Heath house at a swift pace, with only
time for a lifting of David's hat, prolonged politely,--which might or
might not have included Kate, and they were out upon their way together.

Marcia could scarcely believe her senses that she was really here beside
David, riding with him swiftly through the village and leaving Kate
behind. She felt a passing pity for Kate. Then she looked shyly up at
David. Would his gaiety pass when they were away, and would he grow grave
and sad again so soon as he was out of Kate's sight? She had learned
enough of David's principles to know that he would not think it right to
let his thoughts stray to Kate now, but did his heart still turn that way
in spite of him?

Through the town they sped, glad with every roll of the wheels that took
them further away from Kate. Each was conscious, as they rolled along, of
that day one year ago when they rode together thus, out through the fields
into the country. It was a day much as that other one, just as bright,
just as warm, yet oh, so much more radiant to both! Then they were sad and
fearful of the future. All their life seemed in the past. Now the darkness
had been led through, and they had reached the brightness again. In fact,
all the future stretched out before them that fair morning and looked
bright as the day.

They were conscious of the blueness of the sky, of the soft clouds that
hovered in haziness on the rim of the horizon, as holding off far enough
to spoil no moment of that perfect day. They were conscious of the waving
grains and of the perfume of the buckwheat drifting like snow in the
fields beyond the wheat; conscious of the meadow-lark and the wood-robin's
note; of the whirr of a locust; and the thud of a frog in the cool green
of a pool deep with brown shadows; conscious of the circling of mated
butterflies in the simmering gold air; of the wild roses lifting fair pink
petals from the brambly b