“No; I suppose not,” she agreed. “It’d be an awfully long time and he’d be as old as anything. Well, anyway, he isn’t keeping company with anybody now; and when he does go off and get married, I’ll just have to do the best I can. Let’s go back. My pail’s full.”
As they stood up, side by side, the boy looked down at the girl and a sudden red warmed the brown of his face.
“I’ll tell you what, Peg,” he said. “You grow up and marry me.”
“I’d love to.”
The cheerful promptness of the consent was most flattering; but, even at fifteen, the wooer felt that something was lacking. For a moment he hesitated, looking down into the frank blue eyes. Then he laughed and took Peg’s pail of berries.
“Well, don’t you forget it. That’s all,” he said with masterful gruffness, as he turned away to find the trail. He had never carried her pail before. Somewhere back in Pegeen’s brain a disconcerting idea took form. Jimmy was growing up. He’d be going away to school next, and Mr. Archibald would get married and have a wife to see to him.
She followed Jimmy’s sturdy figure down the hill with lagging steps and her face was very sober when they joined Archibald under the trees.
“Tired?” he asked.
She smiled at him; but the attempt wasn’t altogether successful.
“No, I’m not tired,” she said; “but, someway or other, I feel lonesome.”