“It’s all God’s doing,” remarked his wife piously.
“And He does the best for us, of course. Yet He does seem these last seasons to have kind of lost His grip over the weather. Well, maybe it will be made up to us this year. And what did you do at Horndean, mother?”
The old couple walked in front, and the other dropped behind, the young man lingering, and taking short steps to increase the distance.
“I say, Dolly,” he murmured at last, flushing slightly as he glanced at her, “I’ve been speaking to your father about—you know what.”
But Dolly didn’t know what. She hadn’t the slightest idea of what. She turned her pretty little freckled face up to him and was full of curiosity upon the point.
Adam Wilson’s face flushed to a deeper red. “You know very well,” said he, impatiently, “I spoke to him about marriage.”
“Oh, then it’s him you want.”
“There, that’s the way you always go on. It’s easy to make fun, but I tell you that I am in earnest, Dolly. Your father says that he would have no objection to me in the family. You know that I love you true.”
“How do I know that then?”
“I tell you so. What more can I do?”