Hale was the last to go and when he called to
her from the porch, she went out trembling and stood at the head
of the steps in the moonlight.
"I love you, little girl," he said simply, "and I want you to
marry me some day--will you, June?" She was unsurprised but she
flushed under his hungry eyes, and the little cross throbbed at
her throat.
"SOME day-not NOW," she thought, and then with equal simplicity:
"Yes, Jack."
"And if you should love somebody else more, you'll tell me right
away--won't you, June?" She shrank a little and her eyes fell, but
straight-way she raised them steadily:
"Yes, Jack."
"Thank you, little girl--good-night."
"Good-night, Jack."
Hale saw the little shrinking movement she made, and, as he went
down the hill, he thought she seemed to be in a hurry to be alone,
and that she had caught her breath sharply as she turned away. And
brooding he walked the woods long that night.
Only a few days later, they started for New York and, with all her
dreaming, June had never dreamed that the world could be so large.
Mountains and vast stretches of rolling hills and level land
melted away from her wondering eyes; towns and cities sank behind
them, swift streams swollen by freshets were outstripped and left
behind, darkness came on and, through it, they still sped on.
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