Dan interrupted, "Please don't, Miss Farwell; I understand. You were exactly right. I know, now." Then he added, slowly, "I want you to know, though, Miss Farwell, that I had no thought of being rude when we talked in the old Academy yard." She was silent and he went on, "I must make you understand that I am not the ill-mannered cad that I seemed. I—You know, this ministry"—he emphasized the word with a smile—"is so new to me—I am really so inexperienced!"
She glanced at him quickly.
He continued, "I had never before heard such thoughts as you expressed, and I was too puzzled to realize how my silence would appear to you when you knew."
"Then this is your first church?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, "and I am beginning to realize how woefully ignorant I am of life. You know I was born and brought up in the backwoods. Until I went to college I knew only our simple country life; at college I knew only books and students. Then I came here."
As he talked the young woman's face cleared. It was something very refreshing to hear such a man declare his ignorance of life with the frankness of a boy. She held out her hand impulsively.
"Let's forget it all," she said. "It was a horrid mistake."
"And we are to be good friends?" he asked, grasping her outstretched hand.
Without replying the young woman quietly released her hand and drew back a few paces—she was trembling. She fought for self-control. There was something—what was it about this man? The touch of his hand—Hope Farwell was frightened by emotions new and strange to her.
She found a seat on the big rock and ignoring his question said, "So that's why you are so big and strong, and know so well how to work in a garden. I thought it was strange for one of your calling. I see now how natural it is for you."