It was growing dark. I found Madeline waiting for me in the lane. Somewhat piqued at the persistency of the little woman's ministrations, I informed her briefly, that I had found the fisherman in the school-house, and had been conversing with him there; but she put her hand in my arm with an air of unshaken confidence.
CHAPTER XVI.
GEORGE OLVER'S LOVE FOR BECKY.
"I'd like to see you alone a few minutes, teacher, if you please."
It was George Olver who spoke, in his sturdy, resolute bass. The words hardly took on the form of a suave request: they were uttered in too earnest, grave, and intent a tone.
I had dismissed my school for the day. The roar of the young lions just released from bondage had not died away when George Olver entered the school-room, closed the door behind him, and stood in a manly and self-reliant attitude, his hat in his hand.
"No, ma'am," he said, in answer to some gesture of mine; "I'll be much obleeged if you'll set down in the chair."
"There's times, teacher," he then went on, gravely and steadily; "when ordinary friends, like you and me, meetin' each other in the road, or in a neighbor's house, maybe, we say, 'How d'ye do?' or 'It's a pleasant day,' or the like o' that, and all well and good. It's a fair understandin', and enough said 'twixt you and me: and then ag'in, there's times when the wind blows up rough, as ye might say, and oncommon dark, and some harm a befallin' of us, when we git closter together and more a dependin' on each other, and then them old words ain't o' much account to us, but to speak out different what need be without fear or shame."
"Yes," I said, much impressed by George Olver's manner. He was held somewhat in awe among the Wallencampers, and regarded generally as a "close-mouthed" fellow.