come home till
night."

"Oh, David!" said Letty, with a little cry. Then the same knowing smile
crept over her face. "No, I sha'n't," added she willfully. "I'm goin' to
bring it to you."

"Fetch me my dinner? Why, it's a mile and a half 'cross lots! I guess
you won't!"

"You go right along, David," said Letty decisively. "I don't want to
hear another word. I ain't seen the Long Pastur' this summer, and I'm
comin'. Good-by!" She disappeared down the cellar stairs with the
butter-plate poised on a pyramid of dishes, and David, having no time to
argue, went off to his work.

About ten o'clock Letty took her way down to the Long Pasture; she was a
very happy woman, and she could hold her happiness before her face,
regarding it frankly and with a full delight. The material joys of life
might seem to escape her; but she could have them, after all. The great
universe, warm with sun and warm with love, was on her side. Even the
day seemed something tangible in gracious being; and as Letty trudged
along, her basket on her arm, she reasoned upon her own riches and owned
she had enough. David was not like anybody else; but he was better than
anybody else, and he was hers. Even his faults were dearer than other
men's virtues. She heard the sound of his axe upon the stakes, breaking
the lovely stillness with a significance lovelier still.

"David!" she called, long before reaching the little brook that runs
beneath the bank, and he leaped the fence and came to meet her. "David!"
she repeated, and looked up in his face with eyes so solemn and so full
of light that he held her still a moment to look at her.

"Letty," he said, "you're real pretty!" And then they both laughed, and
walked on together through the shade.

The day knit up its sweet, long minutes full of the serious beauty of
the woods. David worked hard, and for a time Letty lingered near him;
then she strayed away, and came back to him, from moment to moment,
with wonderful treasures. Now it was cress from the spring, now a
palm-full of partridge berries, or a cluster of checkerberry leaves for
a "cud," or a bit of wood-sorrel. By and by the fall stillness gave out
a breath of heat, and the sun stood high overhead. Letty spread out her
dinner, and David made her a fire among the rocks. The smoke rose in a
blue efflorescence; and with the sweet tang of burning wood yet in the
air, they sat down side by side, drinking from one cup, and smiling over
the foolish noth