“I'm much obliged for those apples, Dave,” said June quietly--and Dave flushed a darker red and sat still, forgetting to renew the old threat that was on his tongue. But his taunt rankled in the girl--rankled more now than when Dave first made it, for she better saw the truth of it and the hurt was the greater to her unconquerable pride that kept her from betraying the hurt to Dave long ago, and now, when he was making an old wound bleed afresh. But the pain was with her at dinner that night and through the evening. She avoided Hale's eyes though she knew that he was watching her all the time, and her instinct told her that something was going to happen that night and what that something was. Hale was the last to go and when he called to her from the porch, she went out trembling and stood at the head of the steps in the moonlight. “I love you, little girl,” he said simply, “and I want you to marry me some day--will you, June?” She was unsurprised but she flushed under his hungry eyes, and the little cross throbbed at her throat. “SOME day--not NOW,” she thought, and then with equal simplicity: “Yes, Jack.” “And if you should love somebody else more, you'll tell me right away--won't you, June?” She shrank a little and her eyes fell, but straight-way she raised them steadily: “Yes, Jack.” “Thank you, little girl--good-night.” “Good-night, Jack.” Hale saw the little shrinking movement she made, and, as he went down the hill, he thought she seemed to be in a hurry to be alone, and that she had caught her breath sharply as she turned away. And brooding he walked the woods long that night.