BLUE HILL.
Three years from the day Manson led Liddy to the carriage, blinded by tears and heart broken at the separation in store, they once more visited that dearly loved spot. It was a place more sacred to them than a church, for it had been hallowed by the tears of love and sanctified by the noblest impulses of two honest and true hearts. It was far removed from all the vain pomp and display of humanity and the sordid and selfish influences of life. To Liddy and her lover it was a spot that appealed to all that was holiest and best in their natures, and lifted them above selfish thought.
"Can you realize how I felt," Manson said on the way, "the day I rode in silence up here and then told you I had enlisted?"
"No," she answered; "no more than you can imagine how I felt. I think I suffered the more, for I was in suspense and you were not. That makes me think of a question I have long wanted to ask you. You won't mind now, will you?" she continued with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. "Why did you tell the bad news first and propose afterward? Why didn't you pop the question first?"
"I thought you would be more apt to say 'yes' if I put it the way I did."
"I think you knew it wouldn't be 'no,'" she said. "I knew that was coming weeks before."
"You did," he replied, a little surprised. "How did you know?"
"Do you think I was blind?" she answered archly. "A girl usually knows when that question is liable to come for months beforehand, and if it is to be 'no' the man in the case will have hard work to obtain a good opportunity."
When they were seated beside the rock once more she said: "Now, sir, three years ago I told you we must feel and act like children one day up here, and you minded me very well; but it was hard work, I think. It was for me, I am sure."
"It will be easier to-day," he responded, "for I've only one thing to worry about, and that is the proposition your father made."