to the end of the table where she deftly manipulated
the sweet-smelling dough, patting it, and pulling it, and turning it
about until she was ready to put the shapely balls in the pans,
holding them in her two firm little hands with a slight rolling motion
as she slipped each loaf in its place. It had never occurred to Peter
Junior that bread making was such an interesting process.

"Why do you fuss with it so? Why don't you just dump it in the pan any
old way? That's the way I'd do." But he loved to watch her pink-tipped
fingers carefully shaping the loaves, nevertheless.

"Oh--because."

"Good reason."

"Well--the more you work it the better it is, just like everything
else; and then--if you don't make good-looking loaves, you'll never
have a handsome husband. Mother says so." She tossed a stray lock from
her eyes, and opening the oven door thrust in her arm. "My, but it's
hot! Why do you sit here in the heat? It's a lot nicer on the porch in
the rocker. Mother's gone to town--and--"

"I'd rather sit here with you--thank you." He spoke stiffly and
waited. What could he say; what could he do next? She left him a
moment and quickly returned with a cup of butter.

"You know--I'd stop and go out in the cool with you, Peter, but I must
work this dough I have left into raised biscuit; and then I have to
make a cake for to-morrow--and cookies--there's something to do in
this house, I tell you! How about to-morrow?"

"I don't believe I'd better go. All the rest of the world will be
there, and--"

"Only our little crowd. When I said everybody, you didn't think I
meant everybody in the whole world, did you? You know us all."

"Do you want me to go? There'll be enough others--"

She tossed her head and gave him a sidelong glance. "I always ask
people to go when I don't want them to."

He rose at that and stood close to her side, and, stooping, looked in
her eyes; and for the first time the color flamed up in her face
because of him. "I say--do you want me to go?"

"No, I don't."

But the red he had brought into her cheeks intoxicated him with
delight. Now he knew a thing to do. He seized her wrists and turned
her away from the table and continued to look into her eyes. She
twisted about, looking away from him, but the burning blush made even
the little ear she turned toward him pink, and he loved it. His
discretion was all gone. He loved her, and he would tell her now--now!
She must hear it, and slipping his ar