aside for the flowers and little trees."

"And nothing else."

"Nothing else," she agreed.

He led the way, his shoulders drooping a trifle and his step not so
light as her step. She could have trodden upon violets without harm to
them. Still, he marched with a sturdiness that was commendable
considering the load he carried. They made their way down through the
orchard and over the sun-flecked grass until they encountered their
first obstacle. It was a stone wall made out of gray field rocks. He
gave her his hand. The fingers clung to his like a child's fingers.
Their warm, soft caress went to his head like wine so that for a
moment, as she stood near him, it was a question whether or not he
could resist drawing her into his arms which throbbed for her. He
spoke nothing; she spoke nothing. There was no boldness in her, nor
any struggle either. With her head thrown back a little, she waited.
So for ten seconds they stood, neither moving. Then he motioned and
she jumped lightly to the ground. He led the way and they took up
their march again, though once behind him she found it difficult to
catch her breath again.

They moved on down the green hill, across a field, ankle deep in new
grass, into the heavier green of the low lands. So they came to a
meadow brook running shallow over a pebbly bottom but some five yards
wide. There were no stepping stones, but a hundred rods to the right a
small foot bridge crossed.

Again she waited to see what he would do, while he waited to see what
he would dare. With his heart aching in his throat he challenged
himself. It was asking superhuman strength of him to venture his lips
so near the velvet sheen of her cheeks--he who so soon was going out
with a hungry heart. Her arms would be about his neck--that would be
something to remember at the end--her arms about his neck. He knew
that she expected him in even so slight a thing as this to keep true to
his undertaking and march straight ahead. She realized nothing of the
struggle which checked him. Tragic triviality--the problem of how to
cross a brook with a maid! There was but one way even when it involved
the mauling of a man's heart.

He held out his arms to her and she came to them quite as simply as she
had taken his proffered hand at the wall. He placed one arm about her
waist and another about her skirts. She clasped her fingers behind his
neck and sat up with as little embarrassment as though riding u