When the farmer returned, and they rode back to the buggy, Annette developed a sudden fever of impatience. She fidgeted about while the men patched up the harness, and delayed their progress by her fire of questions.
After they started, Sandy leaned back in
the buggy, lost in the fog of his unhappiness. Off in the distance he could see the twinkling lights of Clayton. One was apart from the rest; that was Willowvale.
A sob aroused him. Annette, left to herself, had collapsed. He patiently put forth a fatherly hand and patted her shoulder.
"There, there, Nettie! You'll be all right in the morning."
"I won't!" she declared petulantly. "You don't know anything ab-b-bout being in love."
Sandy surveyed her with tolerant sadness. Little her childish heart knew of the depths through which he was passing.
"Do you love him very much?" he asked.
She nodded violently. "Better than any b-boy I was ever engaged to."
"He's not worth it."