“You mean it!” he demanded, seizing her hands. “You want me to stay?”
The blood surged into her cheeks, but she did not withdraw her hands. Into her eager, luminous eyes had leapt the response that had been held in abeyance all afternoon.
“If I stay,” he pressed hotly, “if I settle down and behave myself, and make good, you'll promise me—”
“Jimpson!” thundered a familiar voice from the road. “That good-for-nothing, lazy nigger, why don't he come help me with these things? Jimpson!”
“I'll tell him, Dad!” called Miss Lady, springing from the hammock.
“But wait!” pleaded Donald, “just a minute. I've got to beat that storm to town, and tell Decker the trip is off. But I'll be back in the morning! Perhaps to breakfast. Oh, my darling, I am so happy! Say you love me! Say it!”
Old Mike stirred in his slumbers, then opened one eye. It was evidently time for him to take some action. When two young people are standing very close with clasped hands and love-lit eyes in the dim fragrance of an old garden, even a dog of a chaperon knows that it is time to interfere! With great presence of mind he discovered an imaginary squirrel in the hedge directly beside them, and set up such a furious barking that Miss Lady looked around and laughed. For a second she stood, her head thrown back, a teasing, half-shy, half-daring look on her face, then she dropped a swift kiss on the hand that clasped hers, and without a word went flying crimson-cheeked up the lilac-bordered path.