"Rita?" cried Dic in astonishment. "How did you know?"
"How do I know that spring follows winter?" asked Billy. "I had hoped that winter would hold a little longer, and that I might get you off to New York before spring's arrival."
"Billy Little, you are talking in riddles," said Dic, pretending not to understand. "Drop your metaphor and tell me what you mean."
"You know well enough what I mean, but I'll tell you. I hoped that you would go to New York before Rita came to you. There would have been oceans of time after your return. She is very young, not much over sixteen."
"But you see, Billy Little, it was this way."
"Oh, I know all about how it was. She cried and said you didn't care for her, that you were breaking her heart, and wouldn't let you kiss her till you gave her your promise. Oh, bless your soul, I know exactly how it came about. Maxwelton's braes are um, um, um, um, yes, yes."
"Have you seen Rita?" asked Dic, who could not believe that she would tell even Billy of the scene on the log.
"Of course I have not seen her. How could I? It all happened last night after the social, and it is now only seven A.M."
"Billy Little, I believe you are a mind reader," said Dic, musingly.
"No, I'm not," replied Billy, with asperity. "Let's go back to the store. You've told me all I want to know; but I don't blame you much after all. You couldn't help it. No man could. But you'll die plowing corn. Perhaps you'll be happier in a corn field than in a broader one. Doubtless the best thing one can do is to drift. With all due reverence, I am almost ready to believe that Providence made a mistake when it permitted our race to progress beyond the pastoral age. Stick to your ploughing, Dic. It's good, wholesome exercise, and Rita will furnish everything else needful to your happiness."