They walked on till they reached a gate which opened into a little woodland copse. Here, under the mighty trees, the shade was pleasant, and the grass cool and refreshing to the eye. They sat at the foot of a great old oak.
"Em," said Mr. Roland--by the way, the Rev. John Roland was the young gentleman's name--"these meetings are very pleasant."
"Yes," said Em, who was always truthful, "they are."
"Therefore, I am afraid to run the risk of ending them."
"What do you mean?" cried she.
To be candid, four mornings out of five were taken up by these pleasant little meetings, and to end them would be to rob her of one of her most important occupations.
"Em, you know what I mean."
"I don't," said she.
"You do," said he.
"I do not," she said, and looked the other way.