“Wal, how’d ye find the gal?” he said to Ray when the chance came. “Was she glad to see ye?”
“Why, yes,” answered Ray, looking away, “she appeared to be. I wasn’t in Greenvale but two weeks, you know.”
“Saw her ’most every evenin’ durin’ that time, I s’pose?”
“No, not every one,” returned Ray, vaguely; “her school hadn’t closed when I got home, and she studied nights, you see.”
Old Cy watched Ray’s face for a moment.
“I ain’t pryin’ into yer love matters,” he said at last, “but as I’m on your side, I’d sorter like to know how it’s progressin’. Wa’n’t thar nothin’ said ’tween ye–no sort o’ promise, ’fore ye come ’way?”
“No, nothing of that sort,” answered Ray, looking confused, “though we parted good friends, and she sent her love to you. I’m afraid Chip don’t quite like Greenvale.”
Old Cy made no answer, though a smothered “hum, ha” escaped him at the disclosure of what he feared.
“I wish ye’d sorter clinched matters ’fore ye left,” he said, after a pause; “that is, if ye’re callatin’ to be here ’nother winter. It’s ’most too long to keep a gal guessin’; ’sides, ’tain’t right.”
Ray, however, made no defence, in fact, seemed guilty and confused, so Old Cy said no more.