Then, carefully parting the branches, I saw this," waving her
small hand that I might see it, but still not looking at me. "The sun
was just setting; away down in yonder field the sorrel was as fire in
its rays; a catbird was reciting a merry pastoral in the thicket
beyond; two goats stood high on a bank, like satyrs guarding the
place. You see why I come again."
"I have the right of discovery," I cried gayly: "I made the path and
placed the rocks. I claim it, that I may lay it at your feet."
"Do you like it?" she asked, turning to me and laying a slight stress
on "you."
"I told you I admired pretty things, and you know, Miss Blanche, I am
a bit of a poet."
She smiled: "Ah yes; but do you really admire this?"
"Of course I do--think it dem foine."
She laughed outright--a laugh so gay that I joined her, though I could
not tell why. "As for sorrel," I added, "you ought to see The
Beauties: the fields are full of it, though the farmers don't seem to
admire it much."
"Well, I am very fond of the sorrel," she replied, "with the
clover-tops, the seed-globes of dandelion and the daisies by the
water: it makes quite a bouquet in yonder field."
I looked at her to see if she was chaffing me: not at all--she was
sober as a judge.
"Dem foine! I beg pardon, very nice indeed. How would you like to
carry it to the ball this evening?"
"I never take anything to a ball that I care to have appreciated," she
answered dryly.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69