"Don't worry. It's blind or it would blush red with shame for the fickleness of men," Mrs. Henderson told him and then went on, "Forget the moon and tell me what you did for Virginia that worked this miracle?" He chuckled. "It was so easy. I told Obadiah that he made me think of a fat hog. As usual he displayed--ahem--confidence in my judgment." She leaned towards him, her face filled with delight. "Hezekiah Wilkins," she whispered excitedly, "I could hug you for those words." "I've been waiting a good many years for you to do that, Mary." She dropped her head. "It's the moon, Hezekiah," she warned him. "I forgot how to embrace any one years ago." In the mysterious light, it seemed to him that a smile played about her mouth. His arm slipped about her waist. He tipped her chin gently and looked down into the face which for so long had meant to him the one woman. "Is it true, Mary? You'll marry me?" A stray cloud passed in front of the moon, and when it passed, the beams lighted the porch of Aunt Kate's house at Old Rock. The door opened and Obadiah came out, while his sister drew a shawl closer to her shoulders and waited in the doorway. "It's a beautiful night," she said, "a perfect Fall night." "It's chilly--it's really cold," he objected, shrugging his shoulders. He walked to the end of the porch and looked towards the apple tree where the hammock swung in lonesomeness. "Where is Virginia?" he asked. "She went walking with Joe." "She'll freeze," he worried. Humor glinted in Aunt Kate's eyes. "Girls take moonlight walks on the coldest winter nights and I never heard of one freezing, Obadiah. Your blood is thin. Come in and I'll build a fire of chips for you." "No," protested Obadiah, "I'll build one for you." The moonbeams bathed the meadow and the pond in their soft light. They silvered the great bowlder left by some glacier upon the edge of this inland water. On a depression in its side sat Joe, and Virginia was at his side. Before them stretched the shadowed mirror of the pond. Opposite loomed the tree clad hill in misty gloom. The moon clothed its summit in a mantle of light, reflected the tree-broken sky line in delicate tracery upon the water below, and pushed a shining pathway to their feet. The spell of the night held the girl. It seemed wrong to speak aloud. "Listen, Joe," she whispered, "the world is asleep." From the hill came the sound of a cow bell sweetened by distance. Except for this and the crickets all was still. "It's not a bit lonely," she sighed. "No, not nearly as lonely as South Ridgefield after you left," he agreed. "Did you miss me?" She was watching the pond. He stole a glance at the curves of her face and the flash of her eyes. It seemed to him that never since the beginning of time could there have been such another. He had lured a spirit of the night to a seat beside him. "I nearly died of loneliness," he answered.