The young man, surprised, started, and regarded the girl in confusion. The red that had suffused his tanned cheeks deepened to a burning blush of embarrassment, as he realized that his outburst had been overheard by her who had been the cause of it. But his eyes met her quizzical glance with candid directness. After a moment, he spoke. All the harshness was gone from his voice; its soft drawl was vibrant with tenderness. "No, Honey, I hain't a'cussin' o' you-all. I was jest a-mentionin' some folks. But I hain't a-feared. Nobody hain't a-goin' to steal yer love from me." "Nobody--never, Zeke!" the girl answered, simply. There was an infinite honesty, an unalterable loyalty, in the curt words. As he listened, the flush died from the lover's face; contentment shone in his expression. "I knowed hit, Honey--I knowed hit all the time. I know when I come back I'll find ye waitin'." "Ye'll come back, I reckon, with fool idees 'bout what yer women-folks ought to wear, like them furriners down below." Her face relaxed into a genial smile, which brought a dimple to shadow the pink bloom of her cheek. But there was a trace of pensiveness; the vague hint of jealousy in the slow tones: "Yes, I'll be a-waitin' till ye come, Zekie. An' if the wearin' o' shoes an' stockin's 'll make ye any happier, why, I guess I kin stand 'em--an' them ladies' straighteners, too. Yep, I'd wear 'em, if they did squeeze me fit to bust." Since Plutina had thus come to meet him, there was no need that he should follow further the trail toward the Siddon cabin, which lay out of his course. At the girl's suggestion that she should accompany him a little way on the first stage of his journey out into the world, the two turned back toward the broader path, which led to the southwest until it met the North Wilkesboro' road. The two walked side by side, along this lovers' lane of nature's kindly devising. They went sedately, in all seeming, for the mountain folk are chary in demonstrations of affection. Yet, beneath the austere mask imposed by convention, their hearts were thrilling with the rapture each found in the near presence of the other. The glamour of romance was like a golden mist over all the scene, irradiating each leaf and flower, softening the bird-calls to fairy flutings, draping the nakedness of distant rugged peaks, bearing gently the purling of the limpid brook along which the path ran in devious complacence. Often, indeed, the lovers' way led them into the shallows, through which their bare feet splashed unconcerned. The occasional prismatic flash of a leaping trout in the deeper pools caught their eyes. So, presently, the girl was moved to speak--with visible effort, very shyly, for the expression of her love in words was a thing unfamiliar, difficult. "I sha'n't have nobody to make flies fer now," she said dully. "I jest hain't a-goin' arter the trout fer fun no more till ye comes back."