“You see, we have struggled, and worked, and accomplished something here–’Phemie and I. And Aunt Jane says it shall some day be ours–all of Hillcrest. I love it all.”
“Well–I don’t blame you!” exclaimed Harris, suddenly swinging about and seizing her hands. “But, say, Lyddy! don’t be stingy about it.”
“Stingy–about what?” she asked him, rather frightened, but looking up into his sparkling eyes.
“Don’t be stingy with Hillcrest. If you are determined to stay here–all your life long–you know— Don’t you suppose you could find it in your heart to let me come here and–and stay, too?”
Nobody heard Lyddy Bray make an audible reply to this–not even the curious squirrel chattering in the big beech over their heads. But Harris seemed to see just the reply he craved in the girl’s eyes, for he cried, suddenly:
“You dear, you!”
Then they walked on together, side by side, over the carpet of flame-colored leaves.