"Uh-huh," agreed Lance, pushing his hat back and sitting up. He cast a laughing, sidelong glance in her direction. "Ola," he said softly, "I'm a goin' to let you into a secret. The gals has pestered me all my life long with too much lovin', and my great reason for bein' willin' to have Callista Gentry is that she seems like you say, sorter offish." To his intense surprise (he had been wont to jest much more hardily with her than this), Ola's face flushed suddenly a dark, burning red. She jumped to her feet like a boy. "All right," she said in a throaty tone, her [73] countenance turned away from him. "If that's so, I'm sorry I spoke. Tell Miz. Cleaverage all about it--and all about me and the other gals that run after you so turrible. I don't care." But half way down the ridge her swift, angry, steps began to lag, and a little further on Lance overtook her. "They's a-goin' to be a dance at our house a-Wednesday," she said in a penitent voice. "You're a-comin', ain't you, Lance?" "Nope," returned the invited guest briefly. He volunteered no excuse or explanation; and so, when the parting of their ways was reached, she demanded with imploring eyes on his face, "Ye ain't mad with me, air ye. Lance? Why won't you come to my party?" "Got somethin' else to do," Cleaverage returned nonchalantly. "Callista and me is goin' to be married a-Wednesday night." Ola fell back a step, and clutched the sunbonnet which she carried rolled in her hands. "You're a--w'y, Lance--you're jest a foolin'," she faltered. Lance shook his head lightly, without a word. "But--why, I was over at Gentry's this morning," she exclaimed finally. "Nobody thar said anything about it." She still watched his face incredulously. "They shorely would have said somethin', if Callista had named the day." [74] "She never named it," said Lance easily. "I named it myself, back there on the ridge whilst you was catchin' your breath--or wastin' it. We had allowed that a week from yesterday would do us, but it sort of come over me that Wednesday was the right time, and I'm goin' along by there right now to settle it all. Reckon if you folks are givin' a dance you won't heed a invite? Good-bye," and he turned away on his own trail. Swift, unsmiling, preoccupied as a wild thing on its foreordained errand--the hart to the spring, the homing bird--Cleaverage made his way to the Gentry place. Callista felt him coming before he turned into the big road; she saw him while yet the leafage of the door maples would have confused any view less keen. She longed to flee. Then in a blissful tremor she could do nothing but remain. Octavia Gentry, carrying hanks of carpet chain to the dye-pot in the yard, caught sight of him and called out a greeting. "Is Mr. Gentry about the place?" Lance asked her, as he lingered a moment with Callista's eyes on him from the doorway.