Since that first afternoon, Ollie had not tried to force his suit. While, in a hundred little ways, he had not failed to make her feel his love, he had never openly attempted the role of lover. He was conscious that to put the girl constantly upon the defensive would be disastrous to his hopes; and in this, he was wise. But the time had come when he must speak, for it was the last day of his visit. He felt that he could not go back to the city without a definite understanding.
Sammy, too, realized this, but still she was not ready to give an answer to the question he would ask. They had been to the Forks, and were on their way home. As they rode slowly under the trees, the man pleaded his cause, but the woman could only shake her head and answer quite truthfully, “Ollie, I don’t know.”
“But tell me, Sammy, is there any one in the way?”
Again she shook her head, “I—I think not.”
“You think not! Don’t you know?” The young man reined his horse closer to the brown pony. “Let me help you decide, dear. You are troubled because of the change you see in me, and because the life that I have tried to tell you about is so strange, so different from this. You need not fear. With me, you will very soon be at home there; as much at home as you are here. Come, dear, let me answer for you.”
The girl lifted her face to his; “Oh, if you only could!” But, even as she spoke, there came to her the memory of that ride home from the party at Ford’s, when her pony had crowded close to the big white faced sorrel. It was Brownie this time who was pulled sharply aside. The almost involuntary act brought a quick flush to the young man’s cheek, and he promptly reined his own horse to the right, thus placing the full width of the road between them. So they went down the hill into the valley, where Fall Creek tumbled and laughed on its rocky way.
A thread of blue smoke, curling lazily up from the old stack, and the sound of a hammer, told them that some one was at the mill. Sammy was caught by a sudden impulse. “Why, that must be Young Matt!” she exclaimed. “Let us stop. I do believe you haven’t seen him since you came home.”
“I don’t want to see him, nor any one else, now,” returned Ollie. “This is our last evening together, Sammy, and I want you all to myself. Let us go up the old Roark trail, around Cox’s Bald, and home through the big, low gap.” He checked his horse as he spoke, for they had already passed the point where the Roark trail leaves Fall Creek.
But the girl was determined to follow her impulse. “You can stop just a minute,” she urged. “You really ought to see Matt, you know. We can ride back this way if you like. It’s early yet.”
But the man held his place, and replied shortly, “I tell you I don’t want to see anybody, and I am very sure that Young Matt doesn’t want to see me, not with you, anyway.”