"You're mother is right; we're both very young," said Trove.
"I believe you're afraid of her," said Polly, looking up at him with a smile.
"I'm only thinking of your welfare," said Mrs. Vaughn, gently. "Young love should be stored away, and if it keeps, why, then it's all right."
"Like preserves!" said Polly, soberly, as if she were not able to see the point.
Against the protest of Polly and her mother, Trove went to sleep in the sugar shanty, a quarter of a mile or so back in the woods. On his first trip with the drove he had developed fondness for sleeping out of doors. The shanty was a rude structure of logs, with an open front. Tunk went ahead, bearing a pine torch, while Trove followed, the blanket over his shoulder. They built a roaring fire in front of the shanty and sat down to talk.
"How have you been?" Trove inquired.
"Like t' killed me there at the ol' maids'."
"Were they rough with you?"
"No," said Tunk, gloomily.
"What then?"