“Will you send Mary out, Williston? I need your chore boy to help me water Sade here.”
The voice was merry, but there was a vibrant tone in it that made the listening girl tremble a little. Langford never waited for opportunities. He made them.
Mary came to the door with quiet self-composure. She had known from the first the stranger was Langford. How like the scene of a summer’s day more than a year past; but how far sweeter the maid—how much more it meant to the man now than then!
“Father, show Mr. Langford in,” she said, smiling a welcome. “I shall be glad to take Sade to the spring.”
She took hold of the bridle rein trailing to the ground. Langford leaped lightly from his saddle.
“I said ‘help me,’” he corrected.
“The spring is down there,” she directed. “I think you know the way.” She turned to enter the house.
For an instant, Langford hesitated. A shadow fell across his face.
“I want you to come, Mary,” he said, simply. “It is only hospitable, you know.”
“Oh, if you put it in that way—,” she started gayly down the path.