The woman sat up, holding out her arms. Carol dropped on her knees beside her, smiling mischievously at the expression on her face.
"Cupid has been at work," she said softly, "and your own son has fallen a victim."
Mrs. Forrest sniffed slightly, but she looked lovingly at the fair sweet face. "I am sure I can not wonder," she answered in a gentle voice. "Is it all settled?"
"I suppose so. At any rate, he is proposing to her in the orchard, and I am pretty sure she's going to accept him."
Mrs. Forrest's arms fell away from Carol's shoulders. "Lark!" she ejaculated.
"Yes,—didn't you know it?" Carol's voice was mildly and innocently surprised.
"Lark!" Mrs. Forrest was plainly dumfounded. "I—I thought it was you!"
"Me!" Carol was intensely astonished. "Me? Oh, dear Mrs. Forrest, whatever in the world made you think that?"
"Why—I don't know," she faltered weakly, "I just naturally supposed it was you. I asked him once where he left his heart, and he said, 'At the parsonage,' and so of course I thought it was you."
Carol laughed gaily. "What a joke," she cried. "But you are more fortunate than you expected, for it is my precious old Larkie. But don't be too glad about it, or you may hurt my feelings."