Billy's face clouded. She shook her head gently.
“Bertram, please don't—when we've had such a beautiful hour together,” she begged. “It troubles me. If you do, I can't go—again.”
“But you shall go again,” cried Bertram, bravely smiling straight into her eyes. “And there sha'n't ever anything in the world trouble you, either—that I can help!”
CHAPTER XXXIII
WILLIAM IS WORRIED
Billy's sleigh-ride had been due to the kindness of a belated winter storm that had surprised every one the last of March. After that, March, as if ashamed of her untoward behavior, donned her sweetest smiles and “went out” like the proverbial lamb. With the coming of April, and the stirring of life in the trees, Billy, too, began to be restless; and at the earliest possible moment she made her plans for her long anticipated “digging in the dirt.”
Just here, much to her surprise, she met with wonderful assistance from Bertram. He seemed to know just when and where and how to dig, and he displayed suddenly a remarkable knowledge of landscape gardening. (That this knowledge was as recent in its acquirement as it was sudden in its display, Billy did not know.) Very learnedly he talked of perennials and annuals; and without hesitation he made out a list of flowering shrubs and plants that would give her a “succession of bloom throughout the season.” His words and phrases smacked loudly of the very newest florists' catalogues, but Billy did not notice that. She only wondered at the seemingly exhaustless source of his wisdom.
“I suspect 'twould have been better if we'd begun things last fall,” he told her frowningly one day. “But there's plenty we can do now anyway; and we'll put in some quick-growing things, just for this season, until we can get the more permanent things established.”
And so they worked together, studying, scheming, ordering plants and seeds, their two heads close together above the gaily colored catalogues. Later there was the work itself to be done, and though strong men did the heavier part, there was yet plenty left for Billy's eager fingers—and for Bertram's. And if sometimes in the intimacy of seed-sowing and plant-setting, the touch of the slenderer fingers sent a thrill through the browner ones, Bertram made no sign. He was careful always to be the cheerful, helpful assistant—and that was all.