She lowered hers again at once, but the first shot in the war had been most successfully fired, although she did not guess it.
He blushed.
“Good evening to you,” said he hastily.
And he strode down the path again and swung to the latch-gate with a jerk.
Again Letty was sorry that she had made that silly wager.
The days passed by, and the postman had not come again to the farm with a letter, neither would the now unwilling besieger of his heart have found an opportunity of addressing him again, even had she desired to do so.
He kept himself aloof, and not all the chaff of more envious companions, nor the merry persuasion of her clever friends, could induce the girl to accost him as she had so frankly done before she had undertaken to win him.
The miller’s Sunday came round. In fresh shirt-front and well-brushed hat he turned up, as arranged, to take her for the promised walk.
“It’s goin’ to rain,” said Letty, “the clouds is awful black.”
“We won’t go far,” answered the young man, “and I can ’old the umbrella over your ’at and feathers if it should come down a bit.”