"No.But I must.I will.And I'm not afraid of anything except of being taken back.""But you don't realize what may be--probably is--waiting for you--at the river--and beyond.""Nothing could be so bad," said she.The words were nothing, but the tone and the expression that accompanied them somehow convinced him beyond a doubt.
"You'll let me help you?"
She debated."You might bring me something to eat--mightn't you?
The eggs'll do for supper.But there's tomorrow.I don't want to be seen till I get a long ways off."He rose at once."Yes, I'll bring you something to eat." He took a knockabout watch from the breast pocket of his shirt."It's now four o'clock.I've got three miles to walk.I'll ride back and hitch the horse down the creek--a little ways down, so it won't attract attention to your place up here.I'll be back in about an hour and a half....Maybe I'll think of something that'll help.Can I bring you anything else?
"No.That is--I'd like a little piece of soap.""And a towel?" he suggested.
"I could take care of a towel," agreed she."I'll send it back to you when I get settled.""Good heavens!" He laughed at her simplicity."What an honest child you are!" He put out his hand, and she took it with charming friendliness."Good-by.I'll hurry.""I'm so glad you caught me," said she.Then, apologetically, "Idon't want to be any trouble.I hate to be troublesome.I've never let anybody wait on me.""I don't know when I've had as much pleasure as this is giving me." And he made a bow that hid its seriousness behind a smile of good-humored raillery.
She watched him descend with a sinking heart.The rock--the world--her life, seemed empty now.He had reminded her that there were human beings with good hearts.But--perhaps if he knew, his kindness would turn also....No, she decided not.
Men like him, women like Aunt Sallie--they did not believe those dreadful, wicked ideas that people said God had ordained.
Still--if he knew about her birth--branded outcast--he might change.She must not really hope for anything much until she was far, far away in a wholly new world where there would be a wholly new sort of people, of a kind she had never met.But she was sure they would welcome her, and give her a chance.
She returned to the tree against which she had been sitting, for there she could look at the place his big frame had pressed down in the tall grass, and could see him in it, and could recall his friendly eyes and voice, and could keep herself assured she had not been dreaming.He was a citified man, like Sam--but how different! A man with a heart like his would never marry a woman--no, never! He couldn't be a brute like that.Still, perhaps nice men married because it was supposed to be the right thing to do, and was the only way to have children without people thinking you a disgrace and slighting the children--and then marrying made brutes of them.No wonder her uncles could treat her so.They were men who had married.
Afar off she heard the manly voice singing the song from "Rigoletto." She sprang up and listened, with eyes softly shining and head a little on one side.The song ended; her heart beat fast.It was not many minutes before she, watching at the end of the path, saw him appear at the bottom of the huge cleft.
And the look in his eyes, the merry smile about his expressive mouth, delighted her."I'm so glad to see you!" she cried.
Over his shoulder was flung his fishing bag, and it bulged.
"Don't be scared by the size of my pack," he called up, as he climbed."We're going to have supper together--if you'll let me stay.Then you can take as much or as little as you like of what's left."Arrived at the top, he halted for a long breath.They stood facing each other."My, what a tall girl you are for your age!"said he admiringly.
She laughed up at him."I'll be as tall as you when I get my growth."She was so lovely that he could scarcely refrain from telling her so.It seemed to him, however, it would be taking an unfair advantage to say that sort of thing when she was in a way at his mercy."Where shall we spread the table?" said he."I'm hungry as the horseleech's daughter.And you--why, you must be starved.
I'm afraid I didn't bring what you like.But I did the best Icould.I raided the pantry, took everything that was portable."He had set down the bag and had loosened its strings.First he took out a tablecloth.She laughed."Gracious! How stylish we shall be!""I didn't bring napkins.We can use the corners of the cloth."He had two knives, two forks, and a big spoon rolled up in the cloth, and a saltcellar."Now, here's my triumph!" he cried, drawing from the bag a pair of roasted chickens.Next came a jar of quince jelly; next, a paper bag with cold potatoes and cold string beans in it.Then he fished out a huge square of cornbread and a loaf of salt-rising bread, a pound of butter--"What will your folks say?" exclaimed she, in dismay.
He laughed."They always have thought I was crazy, ever since Iwent to college and then to the city instead of farming." And out of the bag came a big glass jar of milk."I forgot to bring a glass!" he apologized.Then he suspended unpacking to open the jar."Why, you must be half-dead with thirst, up here all day with not a drop of water." And he held out the jar to her.
"Drink hearty!" he cried.
The milk was rich and cold; she drank nearly a fourth of it before she could wrest the jar away from her lips."My, but that was good!" she remarked.He had enjoyed watching her drink.
"Surely you haven't got anything else in that bag?""Not much," replied he."Here's a towel, wrapped round the soap.
And here are three cakes of chocolate.You could live four or five days on them, if you were put to it.So whatever else you leave, don't leave them.And--Oh, yes, here's a calico slip and a sunbonnet, and a paper of pins.And that's all.""What are they for?"
"I thought you might put them on--the slip over your dress--and you wouldn't look quite so--so out of place--if anybody should see you.""What a fine idea!" cried Susan, shaking out the slip delightedly.
