"Let's walk part way with Betsy," cried Lucindy. "Come, Lucy, an' you too, Cissy. Maybe we'll meet ma comin' home." But Susan said she must attend to supper; nor would she let the twins go.
"Instead of taking the short cut through the fields, let's go around by the woods, dearest," Abner proposed as soon as he and Betsy had set out on their walk.
"Very well, we have plenty of time," she agreed happily. "There's no telling when we may have another such chance, and I have much to say to you. You may walk as far as the upper woods with me, if you are good."
"No farther than that?" he asked reproachfully.
"Only to the bars this time, I think, dear," she answered gently, slipping her hand into his.
In spite of her loving little gesture, he still looked gloomy. "Oh, these long, wretched weeks when I have so hungered for a sight of your face and the sound of your voice!" he presently exclaimed. "And now when I am at last alone with you, you appoint boundaries and limits, and place restrictions upon my walk with you!" and he grasped her hand in a tighter clasp and looked at her somewhat sternly. "Oh, my darling," he broke off, as she turned a wistful, tearful gaze upon him, "forgive my harsh words," and he gathered her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. "It is only because I love you so passionately, my life, my sweetest one. Won't you speak to me, dearest?" he asked, as she continued silent.
"'Speech is silver, silence is golden,' according to some wise authority," Betsy at last said meaningly and rather reproachfully, although she smiled faintly and looked at him with love-lit eyes.
"But the oracle, when he uttered that bit of questionable wisdom, wasn't, I dare say, walking with his sweetheart after dreary weeks of separation," said Abner, squeezing her hand. "If he had, he would have preferred silvery speech to golden silence—or, rather, the utterances of his beloved one would have been to him as doubly refined gold; and I'm perfectly certain that his sweetheart could not have compared with my piquant, peerless Betty. Besides, you declared awhile ago that you had much to say to me."
"So I had, Sir Flatterer," the girl answered with a radiant smile, her momentary sadness completely banished by his fond words, "but at the present moment the delight of being in your improving society has robbed me of all desire to talk. And what greater proof could I give that I love you?" she continued with an arch glance. "It is surely a mighty power indeed that makes a chatterbox like me to revel in silence."
"How I love this dear old forest!" was Abner's exclamation presently. "Every tree, every stick and stone, every foot of ground, seems sacred. Do you not love it all, my darling?"