“You will what?” she whispered, blushing at her boldness.
“Try to make life a sweet, happy dream, for my darling.”
A few precious moments of silence ensued; then young Ridgely spoke.
“I’ve the nicest farm in the settlement for you, my darling. I have worked hard, it is true; but even when toil was the hardest and most trying to my patience, I have dissipated all discontent by thinking whom I was working for. You don’t know how your love has soothed me, my darling.”
“Oh, you are too flattering, Walter; too kind and noble. It is sweet to be loved as I am sure you love me, and I have tried very hard to please you; but you are too extravagant. ‘Praise to the face,’ you know, dear.”
“I cannot praise you, my own. It is impossible. That is, I cannot overrate you. Why, you innocent dear, you don’t know how lovable and good you are.”
“Now, Walter, really you must not talk so. I am very happy in the thought you care so for me, but it is wrong—real wrong to talk so to me. The truth is not to be spoken at all times, you know.”
“Well, then, if you wish it I will not. What do you think of the new young man that has come among us—Charles Danforth?”
“He is very pleasant and agreeable, but I do not like him. He looks cunning and cruel. Besides, I like to see men grand, powerful, and hardy—he looks too much like a girl. What is his occupation?”
“I don’t know. He does nothing but wander away into the forest, where he spends nearly two-thirds of his time. Dutch Joe said he saw him in company with another man in a dug-out on Shadow Pond, yesterday, but I believe it was only his imagination. He is not very smart and clever you know—he is simple.”