“Poor Sally! Brave, high-hearted little Sally!” David said so gently that his words were like a caress. “Charity hasn’t broken your spirit yet, child. Just try to be patient for a while longer. Promise me you won’t do anything without telling me first. I might be able to help you—somehow.” “I—I can’t promise, David,” she confessed in a strangled voice. “I might have to go away—suddenly—from here—” “What do you mean, Sally?” David’s hand closed in a hurting grip over hers. “Has Pearl—Mr. Carson—? Tell me what you mean!” “When I promised to come walking with you tonight I knew that Mr. Carson would try to take me back to the orphanage, if he found out. But—I—I wanted to come. And I’m not sorry.” “Do you mean that he threatened you?” David asked slowly, amazement dragging at his words. “Because of Pearl—and me?” “Yes,” she whispered, hanging her head with shame. “I didn’t want you to know, ever, that you’d been in any way responsible. He—he says it’s practically settled between you and—and Pearl, and that—that I—oh, don’t make me say any more!” David groaned. She could see the muscles spring out like cords along his jaw. “Listen, Sally,” he said at last, very gently, “I want you to believe me when I say that I have never had the slightest intention of marrying Pearl Carson. I have not made love to her. I’m too young to get married. I’ve got two years of college ahead of me yet, but even if I were older and had a farm of my own, I wouldn’t marry Pearl—” CHAPTER IV “Come out of that corn!” A loud, harsh voice cut across David’s low-spoken speech, made them spring guiltily apart. “I ain’t going to stand for no such goings-on on my farm!” Clem Carson had prowled like an angry, frustrated animal, through the fields until he had spied them out. David and Sally had been sitting at the end of the corn field, in plain sight of anyone who cared to spy upon them. When Clem Carson’s harsh bellow startled them out of their innocent confidences David jumped to his feet, offering a hand to Sally, who was trembling so that she could scarcely stand. “We’re not in the corn, Mr. Carson,” David called, his voice vibrating with indignation. “I’ll have to ask you to apologize for what you said, sir. There’s no harm in two young people watching the moon rise at ten o’clock.” Carson came striding out of the corn. David, feet planted rather far apart, looked as if he were braced for attack, and the farmer, after an involuntary shrinking toward the shelter of the corn, advanced again, an apologetic smile on his brown face. “Reckon I spoke hasty,” he conceded, “but Jim said he seen you two young-uns sneaking off into the corn and it got my dander up. I’m responsible to the orphanage for Sally, and I don’t aim to have her going back in disgrace. Better get back to the house, Sally, and go to bed, seeing as how you’ve got to be up at half-past four in the morning. You stay back a minute, Dave. I want to have a little talk with you.”