reached the bottom of the hollow, Joe and Jake, seeing two school-mates
in advance, similarly mounted, dashed off in a canter, to overtake them,
and the two were left alone.

Gilbert and Martha naturally followed, since not more than two could
conveniently ride abreast. But their movements were so quiet and
deliberate, and the accident which threw them together was accepted so
simply and calmly that no one could guess what warmth of longing, of
reverential tenderness, beat in every muffled throb of one of the two
hearts.

Martha was an admirable horsewoman, and her slender, pliant figure never
showed to greater advantage than in the saddle. Her broad beaver hat was
tied down over the ears, throwing a cool gray shadow across her clear,
joyous eyes and fresh cheeks. A pleasanter face never touched a young
man's fancy, and every time it turned towards Gilbert it brightened away
the distress of love. He caught, unconsciously, the serenity of her
mood, and foretasted the peace which her being would bring to him if it
were ever intrusted to his hands.

"Did you do well by your hauling, Gilbert," she asked, "and are you now
home for the summer?"

"Until after corn-planting," he answered. "Then I must take two or three
weeks, as the season turns out. I am not able to give up my team yet."

"But you soon will be, I hope. It must be very lonely for your mother to
be on the farm without you."

These words touched him gratefully, and led him to a candid openness of