He only laughed, and did not dare admit that Aunt Chloe had been the traitor, but got down, hitched his horse, and went nearer. Dorothy was very lovely as she stood there in the gently swaying tree, one arm holding to a big limb, while the other one was reaching out for a bunch of cherries. Her white sunbonnet with its long streamers swayed over her shoulders. Her plenteous hair, inclined to float, had come unplaited at the ends and fell in shimmering gold waves about her blue gingham dress. Nothing more fragrant with innocent beauty had Elliott ever seen, as her lithe, slim arms let loose their hold to climb down. She was excited and trembling as she put out her hands and took both his strong ones that he might help her to the ground. “I suppose it is tomboyish to climb trees,” she commenced, in a confused sort of way. “But, the birds eat the cherries almost as fast as they ripen, and I wanted to save some nice ones for your cocktails.” A look of embarrassment had been deepening in Dorothy’s face. Her voice sounded tearful, and looking at her he saw that her lips quivered and her nostrils dilated, and at once comprehended that the frank confession was prompted by embarrassment rather than gayety. Remembering her diffidence at times with him, he quickly reassured her, feeling brutal for having chaffed her. “It is all right to climb if you wish,” he said. “I admire your spirit of independence as well as your fearlessness. You are a wholesome-minded girl; you will never be tempted to do anything unbecoming.” As he stood idly tapping the leaves with his whip, a strange softening came over him against which he strove. He wanted to find some excuse to get on his horse and ride away without another word. He looked off toward the path along which he had come. At the turn of it was Aunt Chloe’s cabin, half hidden by a jungle of vines and stalks of great sunflowers. Festoons of white and purple morning-glories ran over the windows to the sapling porch around which a trellis of gourd vines swung their long-necked, grotesque fruit. Flaming hollyhocks and other bits of brilliant bloom gave evidence of the warm native taste that distinguished the negro of the old regime. The sun flaring with blinding brilliancy against the white-washed fence made him turn back to the shade where he could see only Dorothy’s blue eyes, with just that mingling of love and pain in them; the sweet mouth a little tremulous, the color coming and going in the soft cheeks. “And a cocktail with the cherry will be perfect.” He had almost forgotten to take up the conversation where she had left off. “But your dear labor has brought a questionable reward. You will remember the cherry was the one thing lacking to make me yours?” “Oh, yes!” her face lightening with a sudden recollection. “Now you do belong to us.” “If ‘us’ means you, I grant you that I have been fairly and squarely won.”