"I? Why, how can I tell?" she asked.
"He'll not be black and ugly, I dare say?"
She shook her head, regaining her composure.
"Oh, no, fair and beautiful," she answered.
"Ah, as unlike me as day from night?"
"As day from night," she echoed, and went on after a moment, her girlish
visions shining in her eyes:--
"He will be a man, at least," she said slowly, "a man with a faith to fight
for--to live for--to make him noble. He may be a beggar by the roadside,
but he will be a beggar with dreams. He will be forever travelling to some
great end--some clear purpose." The last words came so faintly that he bent
nearer to hear. A deep flush swept to her forehead, and she turned from him
to the fire. These were things that she had hidden even from Virginia.
But as he looked steadily down upon her, something of her own pure fervour
was in his face. Her vivid beauty rose like a flame to his eyes, and for a
single instant it seemed to him that he had never looked upon a woman until
to-day.
"So you would sit with him in the dust of the roadside?" he asked, smiling.
"But the dust is beautiful when the sun shines on it," answered the girl;
"and on wet days we should go into the pine woods, and on fair ones rest in
the open meadows; and we should sing with the robins, and make friends with
the little foxes."
He laughed softly. "Ah, Betty, Betty, I know you now for a dreamer of
dreams. With all your pudding-mixing and your potato-planting you are
moon-mad like the rest of us.
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