think. He could only see. He was entirely
disorganized by a girl whom he could have carried away in his arms.

"I feel no fatigue," replied Dorothy.

"I feared that in climbing the hill you had lost your breath," answered
disorganized John.

"So I did," she returned. Then she gave a great sigh and said, "Now I am
all right again."

All right? So is the morning sun, so is the arching rainbow, and so are
the flitting lights of the north in midwinter. All are "all right" because
God made them, as He made Dorothy, perfect, each after its kind.

A long, uneasy pause ensued. Dorothy felt the embarrassing silence less
than John, and could have helped him greatly had she wished to do so. But
she had made the advances at their former meetings, and as she had told
me, she "had done a great deal more than her part in going to meet him."
Therefore she determined that he should do his own wooing thenceforward.
She had graciously given him all the opportunity he had any right to ask.

While journeying to Bowling Green Gate, John had formulated many true and
beautiful sentiments of a personal nature which he intended expressing to
Dorothy; but when the opportunity came for him to speak, the weather, his
horse, Dorothy's mare Dolcy, the queens of England and Scotland were the
only subjects on which he could induce his tongue to perform, even
moderately well.

Dorothy listened attentively while John on the opposite side of the gate
discoursed limpingly on the above-named themes; and although in former
interviews she had found those topics quite interesting, upon that
occasion she had come to Bowling Green Gate to listen to something else
and was piqued not to hear it. After ten or fifteen minutes she said
demurely:--

"I may not remain here longer. I shall be missed at the Hall. I regained
my liberty but yesterday, and father will be suspicious of me during the
next few days. I must be watchful and must have a care of my behavior."

John summoned his wits and might have spoken his mind freely had he not
feared to say too much. Despite Dorothy's witchery, honor, conscience, and
prudence still bore weight with him, and they all dictated that he should
cling to the shreds of his resolution and not allow matters to go too far
between him and this fascinating girl. He was much in love with her; but
Dorothy had reached at a bound a height to which he was still climbing.
Soon John, also, was to reach the pinnacle whence honor, conscie