Still it was to Quigg she talked. And more than that, she gave
him her prayer-book to carry until she fixed her glove--the glove
that needed no fixing at all. And she chattered on about the
dance at the boat club, and the picnic which was to come off when
the weather grew warmer.
And Carl walked silent beside her, with his head up and his heart
down, and the tears very near his eyes.
When they reached the outer gate of the stable-yard, and Quigg had
slouched off without even raising his hat,--the absence of all
courtesy stands in a certain class for a mark of higher
respect,--Carl swung back the gate, and held it open for her to
pass in. Jennie loitered for a moment. There was a look in
Carl's face she had not seen before. She had not meant to hurt
him, she said to herself.
"What mak' you no lak me anna more, Mees Jan? I big annough to
carry da buke," said Carl.
"Why, how you talk, Carl! I never said such a word," said Jennie,
leaning over the fence, her heart fluttering.
The air was soft as a caress. Opal-tinted clouds with violet
shadows sailed above the low hills. In the shade of the fence
dandelions had burst into bloom. From a bush near by a
song-sparrow flung a note of spring across the meadow.
"Well, you nev' cam' to stable anna more, Mees Jan," Carl said
slowly, in a tender, pleading tone, his gaze on her face.
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