"Which reminds me," said Andy with a smile, "that I, too, am foolishly happy. Have you observed my grove lately? If not, better take a careful look."
Margaret followed his gesture. She saw a strange white object among the trees. Her eyes brightened, but dissembling with feminine facility, she looked up in naïve curiosity.
"It is the gable of our roof," explained Andy, looking deep into the clear eyes. "I cut down that old rotten elm that you might get a glimpse of what is to be expected—of you. Hum!"
Margaret made no reply except a widening of innocent eyes.
"To resume," continued Andy. "It will be plastered before the frost; during the winter we shall finish it. Then, after seeding, some day in June——"
Andy paused. The gaze of his companion was gratifyingly intent. He waited.
"Well?" came the incurious query.
"Well!" was the deliberate reply. "What so rare as a bride in June?"
Margaret read the face above her, read it deeply, gravely, for a moment, then released an entrancing smile.
"Would you care to really know?" was her arch reply.