Still, as always, fearful of showing emotion too openly, Zeke hastened to introduce a new topic. He took from a pocket a book of twelve two-cent postage stamps, to secure which he had trudged the four miles from his mother's cabin to the Cherry Lane post-office. The book, in its turn, was proffered to Plutina, who accepted it in mild bewilderment.
The lover explained: "Honey," he said, without any embarrassment over the fact, "ye knows my ole mammy hain't edicated, an' I want ye to write for her once a month, arter I write to tell ye whar I'll be."
The girl nodded tacit acceptance of the trust, and consigned the stamps to a resting place alongside the crystal. And then, after a little, she spoke heavily: "I reckon as how you-all better be a-joggin', Zeke."
For answer, the lad caught the girl in his arms, and gave her a kiss on either cheek--the hearty, noisy smacks of the mountaineer's courting. But, in the next instant, he drew her close in an embrace that crushed the two warm bodies to rapture. His lips met hers, and clung, till their beings mingled. Afterward, he went from her voicelessly. Voicelessly, she let him go.... There could be no words to comfort the bitterness of such parting.