"Yes, it was very warm," replied Ellen. That "wa'n't" seemed to insert a tiny wedge between them. She would have flown at any one who had found fault with her father and mother for saying "wa'n't," but with this young man in her own rank and day it was different. It argued something in him, or a lack of something. An indignation all out of proportion to the offence seized her. It seemed to her that he had in this simple fashion outraged that which was infinitely higher than he himself. He had not lived up to her thought of him, and fallen short by a little slip in English which argued a slip in character. She wanted to reproach him sharply--to ask him if he had ever been to school. He noticed her manner was cool, and was as far as the antipodes from suspecting the cause. He never knew that he said "ain't" and "wa'n't," and would die not knowing. All that he looked at was the substance of thought behind the speech. And just then he was farther than ever from thinking of it, for he was single-hearted with Ellen. The boy crept nearer her on the rock with a shy, nestling motion; the moonlight shone full on his handsome young face, giving it a stern quality. "Ellen, look at here," he said. Then he stopped. Ellen waited, not dreaming what was to follow. She had never had a proposal; then, too, he had just been chased out of her mental perspective by the other man. "Look at here, Ellen," said Granville. He stopped again; then when he spoke his voice had an indescribably solemn, beseeching quality. "Oh, Ellen," he said, reaching up and catching her hand. He dragged himself nearer, leaned his cheek against her hand, which it seemed to burn; then he began kissing it with soft, pouting lips. Ellen tried to pull her hand away. "Let my hand go this minute, Granville Joy," she said, angrily. The boy let her hand go immediately, and stood up, leaning over her. "Don't be angry; I didn't mean any harm, Ellen," he whispered. "I shall be angry if you do such a thing again," said Ellen. "We aren't children; you have no right to do such a thing, and you know it." "But I thought maybe you wouldn't mind, Ellen," said Granville. Then he added, with his voice all husky with emotion and a kind of fear: "Ellen, you know how I feel about you. You know how I have always felt." Ellen made no reply. It seemed inconceivable that she for the minute should not know his meaning, but she was bewildered. "You know I've always counted on havin' you for my wife some day when we were both old enough," said the boy, "and I've gone to work now, and I hope to get bigger pay before long, and--" Ellen rose with sudden realization. "Granville Joy," cried she, with something like panic in her voice, "you must not! Oh, if I had known! I would not have let you finish. I would not, Granville." She caught his arm, and clung to it, and looked up at him pitifully. "You know I wouldn't have let you finish," she said. "Don't be hurt, Granville."