It was a faded thing she held toward him, done up rather baggily, too; but he received it as reverently as if it had been a twenty-dollar silk one with a gold handle. “Does your mother know I kep’ yuh comp’ny home from church last night?” “Unh-hunh.” “What ’id she say?” “She didn’t say much.” “Well, what?” “Oh, not much.” Emarine was rapidly recovering her self-possession. “I went right in an’ up an’ told her.” “Well, why can’t choo tell me what she said? Emarine, yuh can be the contrairiest girl when yuh want.” “Can I?” She flashed a coquettish glance at him. She was quite at her ease by this time, although the color was still burning deep in her cheeks. “I sh’u’dn’t think you’d waste so much time on contrairy people, Mr. Parmer.” “Oh, Emarine, go on an’ tell me!” “Well”—Emarine laughed mirthfully—“she put the backs of her hands on her hips—this way!” She faced him suddenly, setting her arms akimbo, the shawl’s fringes quivering over her elbows; her eyes fairly danced into his. “An’ she looked at me a long time; then she says—‘Hunh! _You—leetle—heifer!_ You think you’re some pun’kins, don’t you? A-havin’ a beau home from meetin’.” Both laughed hilariously. “Well, what else ’id she say?” “I don’t believe you want to know. Do you—sure?” “I cross my heart.” “Well—she said it c’u’dn’t happen more’n ev’ry once ’n so often.” “Pshaw!” “She did.” The young man paused abruptly. A narrow, unfrequented path led through deeper woods to the right. “Emarine, let’s take this catecornered cut through here.” “Oh, I’m afraid it’s longer—an’ it’s washday, you know,” said Emarine, with feeble resistance. “We’ll walk right fast. Come on. George! But it’s nice and sweet in here, though!” They entered the path. It was narrow and the great trees bent over and touched above them. There was a kind of soft lavender twilight falling upon them. It was very still, save for the fluttering of invisible wings and the occasional shrill scream of a blue-jay. “It _is_ sweet in here,” said Emarine. The young man turned quickly, and with a deep, asking look into her lifted eyes, put his arms about her and drew her to him. “Emarine,” he said, with passionate tenderness. And then he was silent, and just stood holding her crushed against him, and looking down on her with his very soul in his eyes. Oh, but a man who refrains from much speech in such an hour has wisdom straight from the gods themselves! After a long silence Emarine lifted her head and smiled trustfully into his eyes. “It’s washday,” she said, with a flash of humor. “So it is,” he answered her, heartily. “An’ I promised yuh we’d hurry up—an’ I alwus keep my promises. But first—Emarine—” “Well?” “Yuh must say somethin’ first.” “Say what, Mr. Parmer?” “‘_Mr. Parmer!_’” His tone and his look were reproachful. “Can’t choo say Orville?” “Oh, I can—if you want I sh’u’d.” “Well, I do want choo sh’u’d, Emarine. Now, yuh know what else it is I want choo sh’u’d say before we go on.”