"How shall I turn aside?" they both thought; et neither quite liked to strike off through the budding grain.
"'Twere a pity to trample upon the growing blades," murmured he, and proceeded slowly.
"It is father's cornfield," whispered she, and her feet carried her toward him.
Presently they came to a standstill, face to face.
"Why don't you move out of my way?" she said, angrily.
He felt taken aback, and was silent.
"I have been looking over the fields--the wheat by the river might be better," continued the damsel.
"It might," owned he, "but it is not my fault."
"Is it mine?" cried she.
"No, the field was flooded."