"I shall always know that we were friends--good friends, from the
first," he resumed after a minute.
"You are very kind, sir," she answered, "this is my path over the stile
and it is growin' late--Tobias's mother will surely give him a whippin'.
I hope you don't mind my havin' gathered these persimmons on your land,"
she concluded, with an honesty which was relieved from crudeness by her
physical dignity, "they are hardly fit to eat because there has been so
little frost yet."
"Well, I'm sorry for that, Miss Keren-happuch, or shall it be Blossom?"
"I like Blossom better," she answered shyly, lifting her scant calico
skirt with one hand as she mounted the stile.
"Then good night, lovely Blossom," he called gaily while he turned
back into the bridle path which led like a frayed white seam over the
pasture.
CHAPTER III
IN WHICH MR. GAY ARRIVES AT HIS JOURNEY'S END
Broad and low, with the gabled pediment of the porch showing through
boughs of oaks, and a flight of bats wheeling over the ivied roof, the
house appeared to Gay beyond a slight swell in the meadows. The grove
of oaks, changing from dark red to russet, was divided by a short
walk, bordered by clipped box, which led to the stone steps and to two
discoloured marble urns on which broken-nosed Cupids were sporting.
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