"Wait till father comes," she said, dashing her tears right and left with those white hands, "and then we can all go together—that is, if father has not money enough of his own."
Paul pressed her hand again gratefully, as if she had indeed reigned his queen, and once more they sunk into the old attitude, save that she did not pretend to work, and Paul no longer vailed the joy in his eyes.
They did not hear the rattle of wheels, or know that a wagon had stopped at the parsonage; thus when Jube came hurriedly from his work in the garden, with intelligence in his face, Rose received him with a pretty pout, and Paul inquired rather sharply what he wanted coming upon them in that rude way.
Poor Jube was quite taken aback. Never in his whole life had he been so received by the young people; the joyful words were driven from his lips, and he stood mutely gazing at them like a Newfoundland dog rebuked for too much spirit.
"What did you want?" inquired Paul, self-rebuked and softened.
"Why, nothing, master, only Tom has just got out of the wagon and is coming this way."
"Tom! What—Tom Hutchins?"
"Yes, master; that's him coming through the kitchen door."
Rose started up all in commotion. The idea of meeting her rustic boy lover just then filled her with dismay. But there was no escape. He was half across the meadow, making directly for the apple tree. A fine, powerful young fellow he certainly was—broad-chested and stout of limb—but there was the same frank face, the same freckles on the cheeks, the same laughing blue eyes. He came up a little awkwardly, not exactly knowing how to use his arms in walking, and halted a few yards from Rose in blank astonishment at her beauty. She went toward him at once holding out her hands.