Stopping his horses in the shadow, he drew out his watch and pressed the stem. It struck eleven.
He drew up the buggy-top and taking the little silver whistle from his pocket, gave a low whistle.
It was ten minutes later before the side door of the cottage opened softly and a girl came noiselessly out. She slipped out, following the shadow line of the trees until she came up to the buggy. Then she threw the shawl from off her face and head and stood smiling up at Travis. It had been a pretty face, but now it was pinched by overwork and there was the mingling both of sadness and gladness in her eyes. But at sight of Travis she blushed joyfully, and deeper still when he held out his hand and drew her into the buggy and up to the seat beside him.
“Maggie”—was all he whispered. Then he kissed her passionately on her lips. “I am glad I came,” he went on, as he put one arm around her and drew her to him—“you're flushed and the ride will do you good.”
She was satisfied to let her head lie on his shoulder.
“They are beauties”—she said after a while, as the trotters' thrilling, quick step brought the blood tingling to her veins.
“Beauties for the beauty,” said Travis, kissing her again. Her brown hair was in his face and the perfume of it went through him like the whistling flash of the first wild doe he had killed in his first boyish hunt and which he never forgot.
“You do love me,” she said at last, looking up into his face, where her head rested. She could not move because his arm held her girlish form to him with an overpowering clasp.
“Why?” he asked, kissing her again and in sheer passionate excess holding his lips on hers until she could not speak, but only look love with her eyes. When she could, she sighed and said:
“Because, you could not make me so happy if you didn't.”