Our way led through the orchard at the back of the house, where grew, I think, all sorts of apples known to man. Each bough was freighted with its burden of round, green fruit, and here and there an Early Harvest tree was spattered with golden patches, where the ripened apples hung in their green bower. Beyond the orchard lay a woods pasture, formed of a succession of gentle swells, the heavy bluegrass turf soft as an Oriental carpet to the feet, while scattered about were hundreds of magnificent trees, mostly oak and poplar. Dotting the sward were numerous little white balls on long stems,--dandelions gone to seed. These Salome plucked constantly, and, filling her cheeks with wind, would blow like Boreas, until her face was purple. When I inquired the purpose of this queer performance, I was shyly informed that it was to tell if her sweetheart loved her. If she blew every one of the pappus off at one breath, he loved her; if she didn't, he didn't love her. She was certainly very much concerned about the matter, for every ball she came to she plucked and blew. Sometimes all the pappus disappeared, and sometimes they didn't, and so she never reached a decided conclusion. The pasture crossed, a rail fence rose up before us. I at once stepped forward to let down a gap, but Salome halted me. "The idea!" she declared. "I don't mind that at all. You stand just where you are, and turn your back; I'll call you when I'm over." I blushed, and obeyed. A wheat-field of billowy gold stretched before us when I joined her. A narrow path ran through it, curving sinuously, as a path made by chance will. This we followed, Salome going in front. The wheat was ready for the reaper, and the full heads were swelled to bursting. Salome gathered some, threshed them between her hands, blew out the chaff, and offered me part of the grain, eating the other herself. It was pasty, but not unpleasant, and I ate it because it was her gift. We were walking peacefully along, through the waist-high grain, when Salome gave a little scream and jumped back, plump into my arms. Even in my excitement I saw the tail of a black snake vanishing across the path. I released her quickly, of course, but the touch of her figure was like wine in my veins. "I beg your pardon!" she said humbly; "but the ugly thing frightened me. It darted out so quickly, and I almost stepped upon it. You couldn't get one of the negroes to follow this path any farther. They are very superstitious, you know, and are firm believers in signs." "I'm sorry you were startled so; perhaps I had better go in front," I ventured. "No; you sha'n't. I'm not really afraid of snakes, except when I run upon one unexpectedly. I kill them when I get a chance."