"Say, don’t you know how you’re going to make all the school feel bad if you go this way? The little ones’ll wait for you to-morrow morning, and they’ll go there to the school and you won’t be there. We never had a teacher that made everybody like to study before. You oughtn’t to go this way. You _can’t_ go!" He stopped, choking. Dawn looked at him a moment, the tears gathering anew in her own eyes; then suddenly down went her head in her hands, and she cried as if her heart would break. "Oh, Daniel," she said, "please don’t! I don’t want to go. I shall never be as happy again, I know, and you have been so good to me! But I must——" The big boy went down on his knees beside her then, and put his rough hand reverently on hers. "Don’t," said he. "Don’t. I’ve _got_ to tell you something. Perhaps you won’t like it—I don’t know. I’m not near as good as you, and I don’t know as much as you do, but I’ll study hard, and go to college, and do anything else you say, just to please you. If you only won’t go away. If you’ll just stay here and let me take care of you! I love you, and I don’t care who knows it! I’ve been feeling that way about you all winter, only I thought perhaps you’d like me better when I got more education; but now you see I’ve just got to tell you how it is. Don’t you like me enough to stay and let me take care of you? I love you!" But Dawn interrupted him with a moan. "Oh, Daniel! You too? Then I haven’t got anybody left. Not a friend in all the world!" She sobbed afresh. Daniel dropped down on the moss beside her in dismay. His heart grew heavy as lead within him, and the world suddenly looked blank. "Yes, you have," he said. "I’ll be your friend if you won’t let me be anything else. I was afraid it would make you mad," he spoke hopelessly. "I ain’t good enough fer you, I know, but I’m strong, an’ I’d study hard and get an education, and I’ll take wonderful care of you. You shouldn’t ever have to work. You’re a lady. That’s why I like you. You’re the prettiest thing that was ever made, an’ I’d like nothing better’n to work hard for you all my life. But I might ’a’ known you wouldn’t think I was good enough." He broke off helplessly, and she saw that his broad chest was heaving painfully and that his usually smiling lips were quivering. She put out her hand and laid it gently on his. "Dear Daniel," she said, "listen! It isn’t that at all." He caught the cool little hand and pressed it against his eyes that were burning hot with boyish tears he was ashamed to shed. It was years since tears had been in those eyes. He had almost forgotten the smart of them. He had scorned the thought of them even in his babyhood, yet here, just when he longed to be a man, they came to make his shame complete.