"Did you mean what you said? Did you mean what you said, girl?"
She laughed and threw the core of an apple in his direction.
"I did when I said it, Mr. Happen-so. I did when I said it."
"I'm ready—. I'm ready now. We'll be married tomorrow, if you don't mind."
"But will I sell my cabbages twice, I wonder? I've had a change of heart since, if I must tell you."
"Surely not in this short space of time," Rackby gasped, dismayed.
A light throbbed in her eye. "Well, perhaps I haven't."
The storm petrel hovered high, swooped close, her lips parted. Her teeth shone with a native luster, as if she had lived on roots and tough things all her life. Again little Rackby felt that glow of health and hardness in her person, as if one of the cynical and beautiful immortals of the Greeks confronted him. He was heartily afraid of her mystifying power of enchantment, which seemed to betray him to greater lengths than he had dreamed. Even now perhaps all was lost.
"I will meet you tonight, then—at the top of the hill. See? By the Preaching Tree."
She nodded her head toward the church corner. "At eight sharp, by the west face of the clock. And, mind you, Mr. Man, not one jot late or early."