"--but I want you to know that I'm going to wait for it till--Midsummer Day. Then"--he bent still closer--"you will give it to me yourself. I'm saying this foolhardy sort of thing to give you something to remember all these months--I've got to. You'll have so many other people saying things to you when I can't that I've got to startle you in order to make an impression that will stick. That one will, won't it?" A reluctant smile touched her lips. "It's quite possible that it may," she conceded. "It probably would, whoever had the audacity to say it. But--to know a fate that threatens is to be forewarned. And--fortunately--a girl can always run away." "You can't run so far that I can't follow. Meanwhile, tell me just one thing--" "I'll tell you nothing more. We've been gone for ages now--there come the others--please start on." "Good-bye, dear," said he, under his breath. "Good-bye--till Midsummer. But then--" "No, no, you must _not_ say it--or think it." "I'm going to think it, and so are you. I defy you to forget it. You may see that lawyer Westcott every day, and no matter what you're saying to him, every once in a while will bob up the thought--Midsummer Day!" "Hush! I won't listen! Please skate faster!" "You _shall_ listen--to just one thing more. Just halfway between now and Midsummer may I come to see you--just once?" "No." "Why?" "Because--I shall not want to see you." "That's good," said he steadily. "Then let me tell you that I should not come even if you would let me. I wanted you to know that." A little, half-smothered laugh came from her in spite of herself, in which he rather grimly joined. Then the others, calling questions and reproaches, bore down upon them, and the evening for Richard Kendrick was over. But the fight he meant to win was just begun. CHAPTER XV MAKING MEN "Grandfather, have you a good courage for adventure?" Matthew Kendrick looked up from his letters. His grandson Richard stood before him, his face lighted by that new look of expectancy and enthusiasm which the older man so often noted now. It was early in the day, Mr. Kendrick having but just partaken of his frugal breakfast. He had eaten alone this morning, having learned to his surprise that Richard was already off. "Why, Dick? What do you want of me?" his grandfather asked, laying down his letters. They were important, but not so important, to his mind, as the giving ear to his grandson. It was something about the business, he had no doubt. The boy was always talking about the business these days, and he found always a ready listener in the old man who was such a pastmaster in the whole difficult subject. "It's the mildest sort of weather--bright sun, good roads most of the way, and something worth seeing at the other end. Put on your fur-lined coat, sir, will you? and come with me up to Eastman. I want to show you the new shop."