"Who?"
"You." I whispered the word and was afraid she would laugh at me, but she didn't. She stopped and looked very serious and asked:
"What makes you think you love me?"
"Well, when you go away I shall think an' think about you an' feel as I do when the leaves an' the flowers are all gone an' I know it's going to be winter, an' I guess next Sunday Shep an' I will go down to the brook an' come back through the meadow, an' I'll kind o' think it all over—what you said an' what I said an' how warm the sun shone an' how purty the wheat looked, an' I guess I'll hear that little bird singing."
We stopped and listened to the song of a bird—I do not remember what bird it was—and then she whispered:
"Will you love me always and forever?"
"Yes," I answered in the careless way of youth.
She stopped and looked into my eyes and I looked into hers.
"May I kiss you?" I asked, and afraid, with cheeks burning.
She turned away and answered: "I guess you can if you want to."