"Air you goin' away, John?" Sarah Betsy asked, and laid the shuttle down for fear it would slip through her trembling fingers.
"Yes."
"Why? Where do you think o' goin'?"
"Over on Bush Mountain, to work in Aaron Brown's 'stillery," he said, answering her last question first.
"Don't do that!" the girl cried, in dismay. "Oh, please don't do that! Think how the revenue men has watched it; an' once, don't you know? they tuk the Brown boys off to jail."
"I don't keer," he muttered, sullenly. "Pa an' me's had a fallin' out. He lows we'll never marry if he can help it, an' I 'low we will." He crossed the floor and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. "Let 'em do an' say what they will, they can't come between us, honey, can they?" his voice sinking to a softer, tenderer key.
"I didn't 'low they'd keer so much," Sarah Betsy faltered, with downcast eyes, in which hot tears were swimming.
"You er not thinkin' o' goin' back on yer word to me, air you?" Hurd exclaimed, his face darkening.
"We must wait, John—we must wait."
"Yes, tel I can git a start," in a relieved tone.