"You are very smart in some things, but are a stupid dunce in other things. Mildred is like an angel both in looks and—everything. I wish I was—were half as good."
"But how am I such a dunce, Carlia?"
"In not seeing how much Mildred thinks of you."
"Thinks of me? Mildred?"
"She just loves you."
Carlia still looked straight ahead as though fearful to see the agitation she had brought to the young man; but he looked at her, with cheeks still aflame. He did not understand Carlia. Why had she said that? Was she just teasing him? But she did not look as if she were teasing. Silently they walked on to the school house door.
But Dorian could not forget what Carlia had said. All day it intruded into his lessons. "She said she loves me" he whispered to his heart only. Could it be possible? Even if she did, what final good would come of it? The distance between them was still too great, for he was only a poor farmer boy. Dear Mildred—his heart did not chide him for thinking that—so frail, so weak, so beautiful. What if she—should die! Dorian was in a strange state of mind for a number of days. He longed to visit the Brown home, yet he could not find excuse to go. He could not talk to anybody about what was in his mind and heart, not even to his mother with whom he always shared his most hidden thoughts.
One evening he visited Uncle Zed, ostensibly, to talk about a book.
Uncle Zed was deep in the study of "Natural Law in the Spiritual World"
and would have launched into a discussion of what he had found, but
Dorian did not respond; he had other thoughts in mind.
"Uncle Zed," he said, "how can I become something else than a farmer?"
The old man looked questioningly at his young friend. "What's the matter with being a farmer?" he asked.