Lyman reached the shore of the creek and walked slowly among the large, smooth rocks, that looked like the hip bones of the worn and tired old earth, coming through. As he approached the tree and the grassy slope whereon he was wont to lie and muse, he saw the fluttering of something white, and then from behind the tree a woman stepped. His heart beat faster, for he recognized her, and when he came up, with softened tread, to the tree, he was panting as if he had run a race. The woman did not see him until he spoke, her eyes having been cast down when she passed from behind the tree, and she started and blushed at beholding him.
"I hope I don't intrude," he said, taking off his hat.
"Oh, no, since you have as much right here as I have."
"I don't know but that I have a pretty good right," he said. "That is, if occupancy means anything. I come here often."
"Do you?" she cried in surprise. "Why, I have never seen you here before, and this has been my favorite spot for years."
"Well, as we are both at home," he said, laughing, "we might as well sit down."
They laughed and seated themselves on the spreading roots of the tree, though not very near each other. She took off her hat and he looked with admiration at her brown hair, tied with a ribbon. She flushed under his gaze and said he must pardon her appearance, as she had not expected to meet anyone.
"A violet might say as much," he replied.
"You must not talk that way," she said.
"Why? Because you like to hear it?"