o, at the other end of the bench.

Evening: the many branching trees overshadow and obscure, it grows dark,
they are screened and hidden from view.

A breeze blows, lightly and pleasantly, and cools the air.

They feel it good to be there, their hearts beat in the stillness.

Who will say the first word?

He coughs, ahem! to show that he is there, but she makes no sign,
implying that she neither knows who he is, nor what he wants, and has no
wish to learn.

They are silent, they only hear their own beating hearts and the wind in
the leaves.

"I beg your pardon, do you know what time it is?"

"No, I don't," she replies stiffly, meaning, "I know quite well what you
are after, but don't be in such a hurry, you won't get anything the
sooner."

The girl beside her gives her a nudge. "Did you hear that?" she
giggles.

Feigele feels a little annoyed with her. Does the girl think _she_ is
the object? And she presently prepares to rise, but remains, as though
glued to the seat.

"A beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Yes, a beautiful evening."

And so the conversation gets into swing, with a question from him and an
answer from her, on different subjects, first with fear and fluttering
of the heart, then they get closer one to another, and become more
confidential. When she goes home, he sees her to the door, they shake
hands and say, "Till we meet again!"

And they meet a second and a third time, for young hearts attract each
other like a magnet. At first, of course, it is accidental, they meet by
chance in the company of two other people, a girl friend of hers and a
chum of his, and then, little by little, they come to feel that they
want to see each other alone, all to themselves, and they fix upon a
quiet time and place.

And they met.

They walked away together, outside the town, between the sky and the
fields, walked and talked, and again, conscious that the talk was an
artificial one, were even more gladly silent. Evening, and the last
sunbeams were gliding over the ears of corn on both sides of the way.
Then a breeze came along, and the ears swayed and whispered together, as
the two passed on between them down the long road. Night was gathering,
it grew continually darker, more melancholy, more delightful.

"I have been wanting to know you for a long time, Feigele."

"I know. You followed me like a shadow."

They are silent.

"What are you thinking about, Feigele?"

"What are _you_ thinking about,