"I may as well tell you the truth, Vesty. I'm not that strong person that I look"—the angels that he saw, flying up, will forgive that sly smile on the boy's mouth—"I couldn't go away and leave you, and go into that false, feverish struggle out there, and live anything more than the wreck of a life, at least. I'm affected."
"Where is it that you have such trouble, Note?"
"It 's my heart, Vesty Kirtland. I must have a Basin for my wife, calm, strong, sweet; one who can see the 'angels' now and then—just you, in fact."
He handed her out of the boat and walked home with her. At the edge of the alders they stood. They could see the light in her father's house.
"When, Vesty?" he repeated.
"O Note, I love you!" she sobbed; "but I must have a little time to think. Every girl has that."
"Very well. You must keep your mind on me, however."
"Hark! hear the poplars tremble. You know what always makes them sigh and shiver that way, Note?"
"I've forgotten."
"They made the cross for Christ out of the poplars; they never got over it—see them shiver!—hush!"