'Mebbe you wonder how I remember every little thing they said. It’s like it was burned into my brain with fire. For I no sooner heard 'em foolin' with one another that soft little way than something seemed to wring my heart with such a twist that it stopped beating.—Dick kiss Cynthy? Why—why, Cynthy was mine! She’d always been as close to me as the beat of my own heart. From the minute I first laid eyes on her I’d known it, in the back of my mind. I’d never put it into words, not even to myself. But that was the way it was. So now my soul just staggered. Nobody could kiss Cynthy but me. That was all.
'"Foolishness!" said Dick; his voice was sort of thick and blurry, and, of a sudden, I could hear him breathing hard. "Foolishness! I guess it’s the only wisdom that there is!—My God!—My God!—O Cynthy, just one kiss!"
'"Dick! Why, Dick!"
'Her little voice sounded like the birds you sometimes hear in the middle of the night, just that soft, astonished, questioning note.
'I suppose I was across that mow and beside 'em in five seconds, but it seemed to me I took an hour to cross it. I never traveled so long and hard a road, nor one so beset with terror and despair.
'They turned and faced me as I came. Dick’s face was red, and in his eyes was agony—no less. Cynthy was very white, her little head held high on her slender neck. Her eyes was brave and clear. Mebbe I was excited, but it seemed to me that she was shinin' from head to foot. You see, to her it was so wonderful.
'We stood there silent for a long minute, lookin' clean into one another’s souls. Dick’s eyes and mine met and wrestled. I never fought a fight like that,—without a word nor a blow,—and yet we were fighting for more than our lives.
'His eyes didn’t fall. He didn’t look shamefaced. Oh, he too had pluck!
'As my brain cleared of the queer mist, that cry of his seemed to sound pitifully in my ears.
'"O Cynthy, just one kiss!"