The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her curls and gave her
cheeks a brighter color, while her breath came fast through her
parted lips and her eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unaccustomed
pleasure. She felt so grown up, so conscious of a new power as
she sat enthroned on the little wagon seat (Mark Wilson always
liked his buggies "courtin' size" so the neighbors said), that
she was almost courageous enough to agree to make a royal
progress through the village; almost, but not quite.

"Come on, let's shake the old tabbies up and start 'em talking,
shall we?" Mark suggested." I'll give you the reins and let Nero
have a flick of the whip."

"No, I'd rather not drive," she said. "I'd be afraid of this
horse, and, anyway, I must get out this very minute; yes, I
really must. If you hold Nero I can just slip down between the
wheels; you needn't help me."

Mark alighted notwithstanding her objections, saying gallantly,
"I don't miss this pleasure, not by a jugful! Come along! Jump!"

Patty stretched out her hands to be helped, but Mark forestalled
her by putting his arms around her and lifting her down. A second
of time only was involved, but in that second he held; her close
and kissed her warm cheek, her cheek that had never felt the
touch of any lips but those of Waitstill. She pulled her
sunbonnet over her flaming face, while Mark, with a gay smile of
farewell, sprang into the wagon and gave his horse a free rein.

Patty never looked up from the road, but walked faster and