A HONEY BEE AND A HONEY FLOWER.
The Widow Gray had a very romantic turn of mind, and she had not forgotten her young days yet, so it was easy enough for her to find out that the two young folks were already deeply in love.
“And no wonder, either,” she said to herself, sagely, “for the two beautiful young things seem to be made for each other.”
Accordingly, she helped out the romance all she could by insisting on the girl’s coming every day to help while away the invalid’s lonely hours, saying, cheerfully:
“For you know that just as soon as Mr. Chester gets well enough to be going about he will be right up at Wheatlands, paying back your visits two to one.”
Thus encouraged, Leola came and went daily, making long visits without exciting any suspicion at home, for she was used to having her own way, and no one interfered with her liberty.
It was quite a week that Ray Chester was detained at the cottage, for although he made light of his injuries, he was very much bruised, and felt stiff and sore, and the little gash on his temple was deep enough to take some time in healing, and even then it would leave a scar under his thick, brown curls that would always remain to remind him of lovely Leola’s bravery in saving his life at the risk of her own.
But that week went away so quickly, so happily, in that golden June weather, that when it was over they could not realize the lapse of days.
“It seemed like one exquisite day,” they said to each other.
The programme of their days had been something like this: