“‘The day was dying and with feeble hands Caressed the mountain tops. The vales between Darkened. The river in the meadow lands Sheathed itself as a sword and was not seen,’” quoted Donald. “Say rather, ‘Twilight gray had in her sober livery all things clad,’” responded Tibby. “See, the sun has disappeared.” “I have an idea,” began Donald. “All your own,” asked Tibby gravely, while she whipped the tall weeds by the roadside with her riding-whip. “No,” Donald replied pleasantly; “it is borrowed.” “You don’t care then to pass it on.” “No.” Again they rode for several rods in silence, while Tibby, with wicked insistence, punished the balsam-weeds and kept her face turned from her companion. “Miss Tibby.” “Tabitha, if you please.” “Miss Waring.” “Ah, you are improving.” “Is this our last ride?” “I hope not,” she replied, looking about her in feigned alarm. “You are not expecting the day of judgment?” “Why not? We know not the day nor the hour—” “O dear! What have I done now, that you should talk like judge, jury, and executioner all in one?” “I am a pretty good judge.” “Of what? Live-stock?” Tibby replied pertly. “I should not presume to judge the dead.” “Indeed!” “Have you enjoyed your wild sojourn here, Miss Waring?” “Extravagantly! There are some marplots, of course,” she added, looking at Donald and smiling wickedly. “But I really have enjoyed the summer.” “It’s a pity this fine weather cannot always last.” “I never did enjoy a croaker!” “I am a weather prophet. This fine day is the herald of a storm. We shall have few such before the winter will be upon us.” “I am sorry. Tempest and I have been such good comrades, have we not, old boy?” Tibby patted the horse’s neck with her gauntleted hand. “You have kind words for everything except me,” Donald said accusingly. Tibby laughed a ringing, merry laugh, and turned toward Donald with shining, challenging eyes. “The poor little man, was I unkind to him? I really didn’t know it. What shall I say that is kind?” “That you love me and will become my wife.” It was an unsuitable time and place for such a demand, and Donald realized it when the words had escaped his tongue. He had not intended to say as much at this time, and he execrated himself for his folly. Again Tibby’s large eyes opened to their widest extent, rebellion and reproach in their depths. “O, you foolish, wicked man! How you have disappointed me! Where is Esther McCleary? O, you shifting weather-vane!” “Don’t, Miss Tibby. Why should you ask me of Esther? You surely do not think me responsible for her abduction. Esther was to me as to you, a friend. I never professed to love her, or any other woman save you.” “You are mad! You don’t know your own mind!” “I’m afraid you do not, Tibby. Listen to me.” “Hush! I command you!” Then, with a laugh, she touched her horse with her riding-whip. “Race for me then!” And she was off like a rocket.