commit almost any unheard-of
act of spite as an outlet for her jealous anger. But only the few
remaining garden flowers were witness to the lovers' indiscretion, and
they kept their own counsel after the manner of flowers, so Selena's
feelings were mercifully spared this further outrage.

That evening Jed drove slowly away through the twilight, mounted for
the last time on the tin-wagon. He was so happy that he bore no grudge
against even Selena Ford. As the pony climbed the poplar hill Jed drew
a long breath and freed his mind to the surrounding landscape and to
his faithful and slow-plodding steed that had been one of the main
factors in this love affair, having patiently carried him to and from
the abode of his lady-love throughout the summer just passed. Jedediah
was as brimful of happiness as mortal man could be, and his rosy
thoughts flowed forth in a kind of triumphant chant which would have
driven Selena stark distracted had she been within hearing distance.
What he said too was but a poor expression of what he thought, but to
the trees and fields and pony he chanted,

"Well, this _is_ romance. What else would you call it now? Me, poor,
scared to speak--and Mattie ups and does it for me, bless her. Yes,
I've been longing for romance all my life, and I've got it at last.
None of your commonplace courtships for me, I always said. Them was my
very words. And I guess this has been a little uncommon--I guess it
has. Anyhow, I'm uncommon happy. I never felt so romantic before. Get
up, my nag, get up."

The Tryst of the White Lady

"I wisht ye'd git married, Roger," said Catherine Ames. "I'm gitting
too old to work--seventy last April--and who's going to look after ye
when I'm gone. Git married, b'y--git married."

Roger Temple winced. His aunt's harsh, disagreeable voice always
jarred horribly on his sensitive nerves. He was fond of her after a
fashion, but always that voice made him wonder if there could be
anything harder to endure.

Then he gave a bitter little laugh.

"Who'd have me, Aunt Catherine?" he asked.

Catherine Ames looked at him critically across the supper table. She
loved him in her way, with all her heart, but she was not in the least
blind to his defects. She did not mince matters with herself or with
other people. Roger was a sallow, plain-featured fellow, small and
insignificant looking. And, as if this were not bad enough, he walked
with a slight limp and had one thin shoulder