The half bared
willows by the brook distilled sparkling drops as the small red sun rose
higher over the meadows, and it was against the shimmering background of
foliage, that the figure of Blossom Revercomb appeared suddenly out of
the mist. Her scant skirts were lifted from the cobwebs on the grass,
and her mouth was parted while she called softly after a cow that had
strayed down to the willows.
"You, sir!" she exclaimed, and blushed enchantingly under the pearly dew
that covered her face. "One of our cows broke pasture in the night and
we think she must have crossed the creek and got over on your side of
the meadow. She's a wonderful jumper. We'll have to be hobbling her
soon, I reckon."
"Do you milk?" he asked, charmed by the mental picture of so noble a
dairymaid.
"Except when grandma is well enough. You can't leave it to the darkies
because they are such terrible slatterns. Put a cow in their hands and
she's sure to go dry before three months are over."
She looked up at him, while the little brown mole played hide and seek
with a dimple.
"Have you ever been told that you are beautiful, Miss Keren-happuch?" he
inquired with a laugh.
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