Now they were slowly walking toward the gap in the yard fence which Old Jasper called the gate.
"The way is short, but it lies over the creek and through the brambles," he said, and after a pause, looking fondly into her eyes he added, out of his great store-house of care and sympathy: "The thorns would thirst for your blood."
"They have drunk yours and your thorns shall be mine."
They stood at the gap in the fence. "Yes," he said, "when I have more than I can take care of. The fact is—what shall I call you?"
"Mary," she answered.
"Mary," he repeated. "It is sweet with the memory of many a home and hallowed by the Christian's hope. And, Mary, when I come back I will bring a preacher and a paper from the law. You understand?"
"Yes, I understand, and the understanding is beautiful and precious." She stood so near and he was so lost—so near that her lips were close to his and he kissed her and started as if the earth had shaken beneath his feet.
"And—and now, Mary, I won't have to beg your pardon when I call you by pet names."
"No, Jim."
"And we will surprise them, Mary."