Kate sat in the bow waving
her handkerchief. They stopped and Sally asked in a tone of playful
seriousness:

[Footnote 1: These last lines were dictated to his son.]

"Young man, why have you come here?"

"To get you," I answered.

"What do you want of me?" She was looking at her face in the water.

"I want to marry you," I answered bravely.

"Then you may help me ashore if you please. I am in my best, white
slippers and you are to be very careful."

Beautiful! She was the spirit of the fields of June then and always.

I helped her ashore and held her in my arms and, you know, the lips
have a way of speaking then in the old, convincing, final argument of
love. They left no doubt in our hearts, my son.

"When do you wish to marry me?" she whispered.

"As soon as possible, but my pay is only sixty dollars a month now."

"We shall make it do," she answered. "My mother and father and your aunt
and uncle and the Hackets and the minister and a number of our friends
are coming in a fleet of boats."

"We are prepared either for a picnic or a wedding," was the whisper of
Kate.

"Let's make it both," I proposed to Sally.

"Surely there couldn't be a better place than here under the big
pine--it's so smooth and soft and shady," said she.

"Nor could there be a better day or better company," I urged, for I was
not sure that she would agree.

The boats came along. Sally and I waved a welcome from the bank and she
merrily proclaimed:

"It's to be a wedding."

Then a cheer from the boats, in which I joined.

I shall never forget how, when the company had landed and the greetings
were over, Uncle Peabody approached your mother and said:

"Say, Sally, I'm goin' to plant a kiss on both o' them red cheeks o'
yours, an' do it deliberate, too." He did it and so did Aunt Deel and
old Kate, and I think that, next to your mother and me, they were the
happiest people at the wedding.

* * * * *

There is a lonely grave up in the hills--that of the stranger who died
long ago on Rattleroad. One day I found old Kate sitting beside it and
on a stone lately erected there was the name, Enoch Rone.

"It is very sorrowful," she whispered. "He was trying to find me when he
died."

We walked on in silence while I recalled the circumstances. How strange
that those tales of blood and lawless daring which Kate had given to
Amos Grimshaw had led to the slaying of her own son! Yet, so it
happened,