"Yo' jest ax me when th' revenuer's daid, Lem," she returned, looking up, the dimples playing and her small Grecian face aflush with the thought.
He could not mistake the light that flickered between her fluttering lids. There was an answer hovering about the red, bowed lips. Her enhanced loveliness in the new sailor dress ravished his senses.
Such a girl! She had always been his, he told himself. He knew she would come back to him. Then a sober fear assailed him again, that contradicted his faith.
"Belle-Ann," he queried, "when yo'-all git yore deah little haid stuffed with th' larnin', an' th' high-tucked ways at th' school—an' know all 'bout books an' sich, mebby yo'-all won't never 'low t' cum back heah agin? Mebby I won't never see yo'-all agin, deah little gal, eh?"
She stopped and stood rigid.
"I kin promise thet, Lem. Heah, watch me, I cross my heart thesaway, Lem—see? Now kiss my han'. I'll sho' cum back some day, Lem—I promise."
Eagerly, ravenously, he grasped her small hand, brown, but fine-textured. A dozen times he kissed it hotly, fervently, wrung with sorrow. So much might happen before he saw her again!
At this juncture, a cow-horn sounded, and they knew that Belle-Ann's father was waiting. The time of parting was at hand. That vibrant horn-call sank deep into Lem's smarting soul.
"Kiss me heah, Lem," the girl said, showing the top of her head. He well knew what she meant.
He placed his hands on her soft curls and pressed his lips to the little white scar that crossed the part in her hair. He had kissed it before. Many times now, did he press it.