ith
it," she said. "Every soul I've seen has tormented me about it, and
people have written me about it. I've denied it till I was black in
the face, but nobody believed me. I can't find out how it started. I
hope you believe, Mr. Everett, that it couldn't possibly have arisen
from anything I said. I've felt dreadfully worried for fear you might
think it did. I heard that my cousin, Lucilla Barrett, said I told
her, but Lucilla vowed to me that she never said such a thing or even
dreamed of it. I've felt dreadful bad over the whole affair. I even
gave up the idea of making a quilt after a lovely new pattern I've got
because they made such a talk about my brown dress."

"I've been kind of supposing that you must be going to marry somebody,
and folks just guessed it was me," said Young Thomas--he said it
anxiously.

"No, I'm not going to be married to anybody," said Adelia with a
laugh, taking up her knitting.

"I'm glad of that," said Young Thomas gravely. "I mean," he hastened
to add, seeing the look of astonishment on Adelia's face, "that I'm
glad there isn't any other man because--because I want you myself,
Adelia."

Adelia laid down her knitting and blushed crimson. But she looked at
Young Thomas squarely and reproachfully.

"You needn't think you are bound to say that because of the gossip,
Mr. Everett," she said quietly.

"Oh, I don't," said Young Thomas earnestly. "But the truth is, the
story set me to thinking about you, and from that I got to wishing it
was true--honest, I did--I couldn't get you out of my head, and at
last I didn't want to. It just seemed to me that you were the very
woman for me if you'd only take me. Will you, Adelia? I've got a good
farm and house, and I'll try to make you happy."

It was not a very romantic wooing, perhaps. But Adelia was forty and
had never been a romantic little body even in the heyday of youth. She
was a practical woman, and Young Thomas was a fine looking man of his
age with abundance of worldly goods. Besides, she liked him, and the
gossip had made her think a good deal about him of late. Indeed, in a
moment of candour she had owned to herself the very last Sunday in
church that she wouldn't mind if the story were true.

"I'll--I'll think of it," she said.

This was practically an acceptance, and Young Thomas so understood
it. Without loss of time he crossed the kitchen, sat down beside
Adelia, and put his arms about her plump waist.

"Here's a kiss Charl