"Hardly, but I reckon hit's June."
She knew that the world to which Hale belonged would expect her to
kiss him, and she made a movement as though she would, but the
habit of a lifetime is not broken so easily. She held out her
hand, and with the other patted him on the arm as she looked up
into his face.
"Time to be goin', June, if we want to get home afore dark!"
"All right, Dad."
The old man turned to his horse.
"Hurry up, little gal."
In a few minutes they were ready, and the girl looked long into
Hale's face when he took her hand.
"You are coming over soon?"
"Just as soon as I can." Her lips trembled.
"Good-by," she faltered.
"Good-by, June," said Hale.
From the steps he watched them--the giant father slouching in his
saddle and the trim figure of the now sadly misplaced girl, erect
on the awkward-pacing mountain beast--as incongruous, the two, as
a fairy on some prehistoric monster. A horseman was coming up the
street behind him and a voice called:
"Who's that?" Hale turned--it was the Honourable Samuel Budd,
coming home from Court.
"June Tolliver."
"June Taliaferro," corrected the Hon.
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