for my soul's
welfare; and, on the whole, I think I'd rather not. When all's said and
done, I'd rather own my servants and my cultivated acres, and come down
late to hot cakes than sit in the dust by the roadside and eat sour grapes.
It may not be so good for the soul, but it's vastly more comfortable; and
I'm not sure that a fat soul in a lean body is the best of life, Betty."

"At least it doesn't give one gout," retorted Betty, mercilessly, adding as
she went to the door: "but the rain is holding up, and I must be going.
I'll borrow your horse, if you please, Dan." She tied on her flattened
bonnet, and with her foot on the threshold, stood looking across the wet
fields, where each spear of grass pieced a string of shining rain drops.
Over the mountains the clouds tossed in broken masses, and loose streamers
of vapour drifted down into the lower foldings of the hills. The cool smell
of the moist road came to her on the wind.

Dan unfastened the reins from the young willow, and led the horse to the
stone at the entrance. Then he threw his coat over the dampened saddle and
lifted Betty upon it. "Pooh! I'm as tough as a pine knot." He scoffed at
her protests. "There, sit steady; I'd better hold you on, I suppose."

Slipping the reins loosely over his arm, he laid his hand upon the blue
folds of her skirt. "If you feel yourself going, just catch my shoulder,"
he added; "and now we're off."

They left the little path and went slowly down the turnpike, under the
dripping trees. Across the fields a bird was singing after the storm, and
the notes were as fresh as the smell of the rain-washed earth. A fuller
splendour seemed to have deepened suddenly upon the meadows, and the
golden-rod ran in streams of fire across the landscape.

"Everything looks so changed," said Betty, wistfully; "are you sure that we
are still in the same world, Dan?"

"Sure?" he looked up at her gayly. "I'm sure of but one thing in this life,
Betty, and that is that you should thank your stars you met me."

"I don't doubt that I should have gotten home somehow," responded Betty,
ungratefully, "so don't flatter yourself that you have saved even my
bonnet." From its blue-lined shadow she smiled brightly down upon him.

"Well, all the same, I dare to be grateful," he rejoined. "Even if you
haven't saved my hat,--and I can't honestly convince myself that you
have,--I thank my stars I met you, Betty." He threw back his head and sang
softly to himself