“Not so, not so,” I hastened to exclaim, seeing that I had made an error. “A word, a wish, a look, from you, madame, were enough,” I replied in some confusion, almost wishing that I was back in Salem inn.
Once more silence crept between us, while, hardly knowing what I did, I opened the gate and walked in to stand beside her. I judge we must have been thus for near a minute ere she burst out laughing, and I, perforce, joined her mirth. That was an end to solemn silence then.
“Here,” she cried gaily, “if you will not talk you must work,” and she thrust a spade into my hand.
Then, at her bidding, I fell to with a will and dug where she pointed out. My sword clinked against the garden tool, and I hoped that none of my future soldiers would pass by to see in what manner of warfare I was engaged. When she thought I had dug enough she permitted me to stop, and right glad I was to do so.
“Now sit on the bench beneath the apple tree, while I plant these tulips,” was her second command.
I did as she bade me.
“Now talk,” she ordered.
“What shall I say?” I asked.
“Oh, anything, everything. The buds, the flowers, the sun, the Indians, the battles you have fought, the war we are to engage in. Why,” merrily, “there is no end.”
Then indeed I talked. Of what, I know not, save that ever I saw her sweet face before me, and her eyes looking to mine, until I would fain have stayed there in that garden forever.