Again Aunt Chloe looked about her for something which would do service for a milkpail. Out in the sun stood the big cedar churn, just where she had placed it the night before that it might catch the fresh morning air and sunshine. At sight of it she looked relieved.
“Well! dis here doan leak, and aint milk got to go in it arter all?” So shouldering the awkward substitute, she hurried to the “cup pen” with the thought: “Lemme make ’aste an’ git thro’, I’se gwine ter he’p Miss Dorothy put up dem brandy cherries.”
Down in the orchard Dorothy was picking cherries to fill the last bucket whose loss had caused Aunt Chloe’s mind such vexation, and whose substitute—the churn—was now causing her a vast deal more, as the cow refused to recognize any new airs, and so moved away from its vicinity as fast as she set it beside her.
Presently Dorothy heard the sound of a horse’s tread, at the same time a voice called out:
“Oh, little boy, is this the road to Georgetown?”
Elliott Harding had drawn in rein, and was looking up through the leaves.
“How mean of you!” she stammered, her face flushing. “What made you come this way?”
He only laughed, and did not dare admit that Aunt Chloe had been the traitor, but got down, hitched his horse, and went nearer. Dorothy was very lovely as she stood there in the gently swaying tree, one arm holding to a big limb, while the other one was reaching out for a bunch of cherries. Her white sunbonnet with its long streamers swayed over her shoulders. Her plenteous hair, inclined to float, had come unplaited at the ends and fell in shimmering gold waves about her blue gingham dress. Nothing more fragrant with innocent beauty had Elliott ever seen, as her lithe, slim arms let loose their hold to climb down. She was excited and trembling as she put out her hands and took both his strong ones that he might help her to the ground.
“I suppose it is tomboyish to climb trees,” she commenced, in a confused sort of way. “But, the birds eat the cherries almost as fast as they ripen, and I wanted to save some nice ones for your cocktails.”
A look of embarrassment had been deepening in Dorothy’s face. Her voice sounded tearful, and looking at her he saw that her lips quivered and her nostrils dilated, and at once comprehended that the frank confession was prompted by embarrassment rather than gayety. Remembering her diffidence at times with him, he quickly reassured her, feeling brutal for having chaffed her.