for caring for my name."

Now, I should have grown warmer in the face and in the heart at this,
but the very truth is that I felt a chill come over me, as though I
were getting deeper into cold water. I guessed her mind. Now, how was I,
who had kissed her at the lane, who had defended her when absent, who
called now in state with his father and mother in the family
carriage--how was I to say I was not of the same mind as she? I pulled
the ears of the hunting dog until he yelped in pain.

We were deep in the great Sheraton orchard, across the fence which
divided it from the house grounds, so far that only the great chimney of
the house showed above the trees. The shade was gracious, the fragrance
alluring. At a distance the voices of singing negroes came to us.
Presently we came to a fallen apple tree, a giant perhaps planted there
generations before. We seated ourselves here, and we should have been
happy, for we were young, and all about us was sweet and comforting.
Yet, on my honor, I would rather at that moment have been talking to my
mother than to Grace Sheraton. I did not know why.

For some time we sat there, pulling at apple blossoms and grass stems,
and talking of many things quite beside the real question; but at last
there came an interruption. I heard the sound of a low, rumbling bellow
approaching through the trees, and as I looked up I saw, coming forward
with a certain confidence, Sir Jonas, the red Sheraton bull, with a ring
in his nose, and in his carriage an intense haughtiness for one so
young. I knew all about Sir Jonas, for we had bred him on our farm, and
sold him not long since to the Sheratons.

Miss Grace gathered her skirts for instant flight, but I quickly pushed