“Little girl,” he said, “forgive all of my brutal ways. Forgive what I just did. But perhaps it was that infernal tune that made me so cruel with you and so blunt. I love you! I love you! I can’t say that with all the pretty words that some men use, for I haven’t had practice, Sylvie. Please put that much to my credit. But I love you. I cannot _say_ any more---but I can _do!_” His voice was firm and full of rugged encouragement. “I have told you the bitter truth about your father. Honesty is best between folks who are going to be married.” He spoke this with a tone of conviction that brought her astonished gaze up to meet his. “You had to know it. I have told you. You are a brave woman, and you can bear it. You can bear it because from this moment I put my body, my strength, my brains, my love, my eternal devotion between you and all those who would be your enemies. Your battles are now my battles. My ways must henceforth be your ways. I have told your father that I would help. Go and talk with him, poor girl. The truth is bitter, but it’s time now to be honest. Don’t say anything to me now. I have said enough for both. And I am going away to do my best for you and yours, knowing that a good and true woman will be ready some day to tell me that she loves me best of all the world.” He still held her face between his hands, and bent and kissed her on her forehead and then on her lips. She attempted to say something, but he gently kissed her once more to check her speech, then rose, took his hat from the chair and went out of the house. The old dog was waiting for him on the porch, and gave him an amiable glance from appreciative eyes. “It isn’t the sort of wooing that’s laid down in the books, Eli,” muttered the Squire; “but I reckon that when you’ve made up your mind that a thing really belongs to you the best thing to do is to go right ahead and replevin.” CHAPTER XX--PALERMO’S “MARCH MEETIN’” HOW IT WAS PLANNED TO BE RUN, AND HOW IT WAS RUN When a hen is bound to set Seems as if ’tain’t etiket Dousin’ her in water till She’s connected with a chill. Seems as though ’twas skursely right Givin’ her a dreadful fright, Tyin’ rags around her tail, Poundin’ on an old tin pail, Chasin’ her around the yard-- Seems as though ’twas kind of hard Bein’ kicked and ammed and shooed ‘Cause she wants to raise a brood. --Meditations by Bill Benson’s Boy.