"I'll leave you here by yourself an' run acrost the orchard," said Isabel, in her other careless voice. "When I come back, I'll stop here an' we'll go in together. Why, Andrew, you here?"
"You said you was afraid," he answered. "I'll go acrost with you."
"All right," said Isabel, with her kindest laugh, not the teasing one that made him hate her while he thought how bright and dear she was. "Come take gran'ma acrost the orchard. Don't let anything happen to her."
They stepped over the wall and made their way along the little path by the grape arbor. The fragrance of fruit was sweet, and the world seemed filled with it.
"It's a pretty time o' year," said Andrew tremblingly.
"Yes."
"A kind of a time same 's this is to-night makes it seem as if life was pretty short. Be past before you know it."
"Yes."
She, too, spoke tremulously, and his heart went out to her.
"O Isabel," he said, "when you're like this, same as you are to-night, there ain't a livin' creatur' that's as nice as you be."