“What mak' you no lak me anna more, Mees Jan? I big annough to carry da buke,” said Carl.
“Why, how you talk, Carl! I never said such a word,” said Jennie, leaning over the fence, her heart fluttering.
The air was soft as a caress. Opal-tinted clouds with violet shadows sailed above the low hills. In the shade of the fence dandelions had burst into bloom. From a bush near by a song-sparrow flung a note of spring across the meadow.
“Well, you nev' cam' to stable anna more, Mees Jan,” Carl said slowly, in a tender, pleading tone, his gaze on her face.
The girl reached through the fence for the golden flower. She dared not trust herself to look. She knew what was in her lover's eyes.
“I get ta flower,” said Carl, vaulting the fence with one hand.
“No; please don't trouble. Oh, Carl!” she exclaimed suddenly. “The horrid brier! My hand's all scratched!”
“Ah, Mees Jan, I so sorry! Let Carl see it,” he said, his voice melting. “I tak' ta brier out,” pushing back the tangled vines of last year to bring himself nearer.
The clouds sailed on. The sparrow stood, on its tallest toes and twisted its little neck.
“Oh, please do, Carl, it hurts so!” she said, laying her little round hand in the big, strong, horny palm that had held the life-line the night of the wreck.