"Cheer up, Uncle," said Winfield, consolingly, "it might be worse."
"It's come on me all of a sudden," he rejoined. "I ain't had no time to
prepare for it, as you may say. Little did I think, three weeks ago, as
I set in my little store, what was wuth four or five hundred dollars,
that before the month was out, I'd be merried. Me! Merried!" he
exclaimed, "Me, as never thought of sech!"
When Mrs. Ball entered, clad in sombre calico, Ruth, overcome by deep
emotion, led her lover into the open air. "It's bad for you to stay in
there," she said gravely, "when you are destined to meet the same fate."
"I've had time to prepare for it," he answered, "in fact, I've had more
time than I want."
They wandered down the hillside with aimless leisure, and Ruth stooped
to pick up a large, grimy handkerchief, with "C. W." in the corner.
"Here's where we were the other morning," she said.
"Blessed spot," he responded, "beautiful Hepsey and noble Joe! By what
humble means are great destinies made evident! You haven't said you were
glad to see me, dear."
"I'm always glad to see you, Mr. Winfield," she replied primly.
"Mr. Winfield isn't my name," he objected, taking her into his arms.
"Carl," she whispered shyly, to his coat collar.
"That isn't all of it."
"Carl--dear--" said Ruth, with her face crimson.
"That's more like it. Now let's sit down--I've brought you something and
you have three guesses."
"Returned manuscript?"
"No, you said they were all in."
"Another piece of Aunt Jane's wedding cake?"
"No, guess again."
"Chocolates?"
"Who'd think you were so stupid," he said, putting two fingers into his
waistcoat pocket.
"Oh--h!" gasped Ruth, in delight.
"You funny girl, didn't you expect an engagement ring? Let's see if it
fits."
He slipped the gleaming diamond on her finger and it fitted exactly.
"How did you guess?" she asked, after a little.
"It wasn't wholly guess work, dearest." From another pocket, he drew a
glove, of grey suede, that belonged to Ruth's left hand.
"Where did you get that?"
"By the log across the path, that first day, when you were so cross to
me."
"I wasn't cross!"
"Yes you were--you were a little fiend."
"Will you forgive me?" she pleaded, lifting her face to his.
"Rather!" He forgave her half a dozen times before she got away from
him. "Now let's talk sense," she said.
"We can't--I never expect to talk sense again."
"Pretty compliment, isn't it?" she asked. "It's like your telling me I
was brilliant and then saying I wasn't at all like myself." "Won't you
forgive me?" he inquired significantly.
"Some other time," she said, flushing, "now what are we going to do?"