John Temple went early to Woodside the next morning, after first making up his mind that he must indulge in no more lovemaking to May Churchill.
“It’s not fair to the dear little girl,” he told himself. “I was led away last night; any man would—a saint would have been, and I am not a saint.”
He kept this determination in his mind all the way to the farm. He was going to see Mr. Churchill about his horse, and not to look at the sweet Mayflower. Nevertheless, his pulses beat a little more quickly when he thought of her, and when he rang at the doorbell of the house his heart was throbbing fast.
In answer to his inquiry if Mr. Churchill were within, the maid replied, with rather a peculiar smile, that her master had left home for some days.
“But,” she added, “he left a letter for you, sir, with Miss Churchill, and she told me to tell you this if you called.”
“Then can I see Miss Churchill?” asked John.
“Yes, sir; will you step this way?”
John accordingly followed the maid to the dining-room, and when she announced Mr. Temple, May rose to receive him with a shy smile and a charming blush.
“I called to see your father about the horse,” began John as he took her pretty white fluttering hand in his.