It was arranged that Mark should ride to the cars with Uncle Ephraim when he went for Katy, and as this gave him a good two hours of leisure, he spoke of Dr. Grant, asking Helen if she did not suppose he would call round. Helen thought it possible, and then remembering how many things were to be done that morning, she excused herself from the parlor, and repairing to the platform out by the back door, where it was shady and cool, she tied on a broad check apron, and rolling her sleeves above her elbows, was just bringing the churn-dasher to bear vigorously upon the thick cream she was turning into butter, when, having finished his cigar, Mark went out into the yard, and following the winding path came suddenly upon her. Helen’s first impulse was to stop, but with a strong nerving of herself she kept on while Mark, coming as near as he dared, said to her: “Why do you do that? Is there no one else?”
“No,” Helen answered; “that is, we keep no servant, and my young arms are stronger than the others.”
“And mine are stronger still,” Mark laughingly rejoined, as he put Helen aside and plied the dasher himself, in spite of her protestations that he would certainly ruin his clothes.
“Tie that apron round me, then,” he said, with the utmost nonchalance, and Helen obeyed, tying her check apron around the young man’s neck, who felt her hands as they touched his hair, and knew that they were brushing queer fancies into his brain—fancies which made him wonder what his mother would think of Helen, or what she would say if she knew just how he was occupied that morning, absolutely churning cream until it turned to butter, for Mark persisted until the task was done, standing by while Helen gathered up the golden lumps, and admiring her plump, round arms quite as much as he had her neck.
She would be a belle like her sister, though of a different stamp, he thought, as he again bent down his head while she removed the apron and disclosed more than one big spot upon his broadcloth. Mark assured her that it did not matter; his coat was nearly worn out, and any way he never should regret that he had churned once in his life, or forget it either; and then he asked if Helen would be in New York the coming winter, talking of the pleasure it would be to meet her there, until Helen began to feel what she never before had felt, a desire to visit Katy in her own home.
“Remember if you come that I am your debtor for numerous hospitalities,” he said, when he at last bade her good-bye and sprang into the covered buggy, which Uncle Ephraim had brought out in honor of Katy’s arrival.
Old Whitey was hitched at a safe distance from all possible harm. Uncle Ephraim had returned from the store near by, laden with the six pounds of crush sugar and the two pounds of real old Java he had been commissioned to purchase with a view to Katy’s taste, and now upon the platform at West Silverton his stood, with Mark Ray, waiting for the arrival of the train just appearing in view across the level plain.
“It’s fifteen months since she went away,” he said, and Mark saw that the old man’s form trembled with the excitement of meeting her again, while his eyes scanned eagerly every window and door of the cars now slowly stopping before him. “There, there!” and he laid his hand nervously on Mark’s shoulder, as a white, jaunty feather appeared in view; but that was not Katy, and the dim eyes ran again along the whole line of the cars, from which so many were alighting.
But Katy did not come, and with a long breath of wonder and disappointment the deacon said: “Can it be she is asleep? Young man, you are spryer than I. Go through the cars and find her.”