Sukey?" asked Dic, laughing.

"Indeed, I will," she responded, "or any one else, if you will stay."

She took his hand again, and, leaning against him, smiled pleadingly
into his face. Her smiles were as sweet and enticing as she or any other
girl could make. There were no redder lips, no whiter teeth, nor
prettier dimples than Sukey's on all Blue River or any other river, and
there could be no prettier, more tempting picture than this pouting
little nymph who was pleading with our Joseph not to run away. But Dic,
not caring to remain, hurriedly closed the door and went out into the
comforting storm. After he had gone Sukey went to the ciphering log and
sat gazing meditatively into the fire. Vexation and disappointment
alternately held possession of her soul; but Dic was more attractive to
her because he was unattainable, and she imagined herself greatly
injured and deeply in love. She may have imagined the truth; but Sukey,
though small in herself, had a large, comprehensive heart wherein
several admirers might be accommodated without overtaxing its capacity,
and soon she was comforting herself with Bob Kaster.

There was little rest for Dic that night. Had he been able to penetrate
darkness and log walls, and could he have seen Rita sobbing with her
face buried in her pillow, he might have slept soundly. But darkness and
log walls are not to be penetrated by ordinary eyes.

Riding home from Sukey's, Dic thought he had learned to hate Rita. He
swore mighty oaths that he would never look upon her face again. But
when he had rested a little time in bed he recalled her fair face, her
gentleness, her honesty, and her thousand perfections. He remembered the
small hand he had held so tenderly a few hours since. Its magnetic
touch, soft as the hand of a duchess, still tingled through his nerves.
With these memories came an anguish that beat down his pride, and, like
Rita, he clasped his hands over his head, turned his face to his pillow,
and alas! that I should say it of a strong man, wept bitter, scalding
tears.

Do the real griefs of life come with age? If Dic should live till his
years outnumbered those of Methuselah, no pain could ever come to him
worthy of mention compared to this. It awakened him to the quality and
quantity of his love. It seemed that he had loved her ever since she
lisped his name and clung to his finger in tottering babyhood. He looked
back over the years and failed to see one moment in all the m