The man, too, felt the witchery of the night. The horses were
crowding
more closely together now, and, leaning forward, the girl looked
up into his face; "What's
the matter, Matt? Why don't you talk to me? You know it ain't true
what them folks said back there."

The sorrel was jerked farther away. "It's true enough, so far as
it touches me," returned the man shortly. "When are you goin' to
the city?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Let's don't talk about that to-
night. I don't want even to think about it, not to-night. You--you
don't believe what they was a sayin', Matt; you know you don't.
You mustn't ever believe such as that. I--I never could get along
without you and Aunt Mollie and Uncle Matt, nohow." The brown pony
was again crowding closer to his mate. The girl laid a hand on her
companion's arm. "Say you don't blame me for what they said, Matt.
You know I wouldn't do no such a thing even if I could. There
mustn't anything ever come between you and me; never--never. I--I
want us always to be like we are now. You've been so good to me
ever since I was a little trick, and you whipped big Lem Wheeler
for teasin' me. I--I don't guess I could get along without knowin'
you was around somewhere." She finished with a half sob.

It was almost too much. The man swung around in his saddle, and
the horses, apparently of their own accord, stopped. Without a
word, the big fellow stretched forth his arms, and the girl, as if
swept by a force beyond her control, felt herself swaying toward
him.