“When could I get in your way?”
“Most any time.”
“Will you be home all summer?”
“Yes, and winter, too.” She laughed at his question.
“Let us sit down and rest a while together. I want to talk over the pleasure that is in store for me.”
Little did he think as she agreed, and they sat down on an old log, how much in later life and amidst different scenes, he was to lament that circumstance. “I have always loved the country. It is so true, so beautiful; I love it from the bottom of my heart.”
He lifted his face, drawing a deep breath; the air was clean and sweet with the scent of growing things.
“Everything is beautiful that’s natural,” she said, touching the beflowered hat. “I never even wear ‘bought’ flowers, because they are only make-believes. I hate anything that is not sure-enough.”
“It’s a pretty idea. I wondered where you found this.”
“Just made it.”