A few minutes later, he clumped upon the veranda of the Nickerson home. Old Mr. Nickerson was reading a paper and looked up over his glasses. “Waal, young feller,” he boomed cordially, “an’ haow does it feel to be a hero? The old taown certainly gave ye a good reception t’other night, eh? And I cal’late that young girl of aours is as proud as a dog with two tails to hev a man all Eastville is makin’ a fuss of. Cal Heneker tells me he’s agoin’ to give ye his best vessel to take afishin’ next Spring.... Aye! aye! ye’re a lucky young feller all ’raound. Ruth? She’s inside washin’ up the supper things.” And he resumed his reading again—thinking for a moment of the days when he, too, was young.
McKenzie led Ruth off to his favorite spot behind the headland, and they sat down on the grass. “Whatever’s on your mind, Donald?” asked the girl. “You’ve been looking so mysterious and acting as though you were suppressing something that I’m sure you’ve got a surprise hidden. Be kind, now, and let your poor curious little Ruthie in on the secret.”
He looked smiling into her eyes. “Yes, Ruthie, dear, I have something—something to ask you. Will you marry me right away?”
She recoiled. “Right away? Good gracious, Don, how can I?”
“How can’t you, sweetheart?” He asked the question with a laugh.
“Why—why, I—I have to get a hundred and one things ready, Don,” she answered. “You can’t expect a girl to marry you the day after the engagement. I’ve a host of things to get ready. I haven’t got a full Hope Chest. There’s linen to make up and embroider; dresses to be made, and—and—” She paused in confusion at the mental vista of nuptial concomitants.
“And?”
“And—and lots of things you have no business to know anything about,” she added hastily, while an embarrassed flush crept into her cheeks.
Donald pretended not to notice, and made a careless gesture. “Oh, you could get all those things afterwards, dear. You know, the Amy Anderson sails for Demerara next week. Don’t you think a trip down there would make an ideal honeymoon? I may not get a chance to take you on the trip I’m thinking of unless you marry me right away.” It was a carefully worded series of sentences. There was no accommodation for a woman on the Amy Anderson.
Ruth thought for a moment, then, with sparkling eyes, she cried, “That would be lovely, Donald, I’m willing, but—but—let’s go home and talk it over with mother first.”