Without a word they came to the spring and pretended to drink. As she
turned to go back, he lightly caught her fingers in a detaining clasp,
and said, in a voice rendered harsh by suppressed emotion--

"Don't be in such a hurry. Where will you find a cooler spot?"

"Oh, it's cool enough anywhere! Let's go back," she replied, starting to
return as she spoke. She saw his excitement, and, being herself a little
confused, had no idea of allowing a scene to be precipitated just then.
She flitted on before with so light a foot that he did not overtake her
until she came to a bank too steep for her to surmount without aid. He
sprang up and extended her his hand. Assuming an expression as if she
were unconscious who was helping her, she took it, and he drew her up to
his side. Then with a sudden, audacious impulse, half hoping she would
not be angry, half reckless if she were, he clasped her closely in his
arms, and kissed her lips. She gasped, and freed herself.

"How dared you do such a thing to me?" she cried.

The big fellow stood before her, sheepish, dogged, contrite, desperate,
all in one.

"I couldn't help it," he blurted out. The plea was somehow absurdly
simple, and yet rather unanswerable. Angry as she was, she really
couldn't think of anything to say, except--

"You'd better help it," with which rather ineffective rebuke she turned
away and walked toward the picnic ground. Henry followed in a demoralized
frame. His mind was in a ferment. He could not realize what had happened.
He could scarcely believe that he had actually done it. He could not