Sally obeyed, somehow forcing her muscles to carry out David’s commands, but the tears were coming so fast that she bumped unseeingly into apple and peach trees as she ran through the orchard, the brown paper parcel of clothes clutched tightly to her bosom. Twice she dashed the tears from her eyes, glanced fearfully about, and listened, but she saw and heard nothing. The sun was getting low in the west, slanting in golden, dust-laden beams through the rows of apple trees.
When she reached the shelter of the corn stalks she went more slowly, for her heart was pounding sickeningly. Just before she reached the end of the field she paused, opened her bundle with shaking hands, drew out the dark blue linen dress and put it on over the blue-and-white gingham uniform of the orphanage. She was re-tying her bundle when she caught the faint sound of footsteps running toward her between rows of corn.
David was hatless. His eyes were wide, unsmiling, but his lips managed an upturning of the corners to reassure her.
“Sorry—to be—so long,” he panted. “But I telephoned a doctor that Carson had been—hurt—and asked him to come over. I didn’t answer when he asked who was calling. Told him Carson had slipped from the roof.”
“I’m awfully glad you did, David. It was like you. Shall we go now?”
David looked down at her in wonder, and his eyes and lips were very tender. “What a brave kid you are, Sally! What a darn nice little thing you are! But I’ve been thinking hard, honey. We can’t run away together—far, that is. I’ll have to take you back to the Home.”
“No, David, no, no! I can’t go back to the orphanage! I’d rather die!” Sally gasped.
David dropped his bundle, took her hands and held them tightly. “I can’t run away from this thing I’ve done, Sally. I’m sorry. I thought I could. I’m going to give myself up, after I’ve seen you safely back to the Home. I’ll explain to your Mrs. Stone, make her believe—”
“Oh!” Sally breathed in a gust of despair. Then, stooping swiftly, she snatched up her bundle and began to run down a corn row. She ran with the fleetness of a terror-stricken animal, and David watched her for a long moment, his eyes dark with pity and uncertainty. Then he gave chase, his long legs clearing the distance between them with miraculous speed. He caught up with her just as she was at the edge of the cornfield, recklessly about to plunge into the lane that led to the Carson house.
“Wait, Sally!” he panted, grasping her shoulder. “You can’t run away alone like this—Oh Lord!” he groaned suddenly. “There they come! Don’t you hear the car turning in from the road? Come back, Sally!”