When Henry went back to the plow, and Polly ran down the road,
with the joy of the world surging in her heart and brain, she knew
that she was going to have to account to her tired, busy mother
for being half an hour late with dinner; and he knew he was going
to have to explain to an equally tired father why he was four
furrows short of where he should be.
He came to book first, and told the truth. He had seen some men
go to the Holts'. Polly was his little chum; and she was always
alone all summer, so he just walked that way to be sure she was
safe. His father looked at him quizzically.
"So THAT'S the way the wind blows!" he said. "Well, I don't know
where you could find a nicer little girl or a better worker. I'd
always hoped you'd take to Milly York; but Polly is better; she
can work three of Milly down. Awful plain, though!"
This sacrilege came while Henry's lips were tingling with their
first kiss, and his heart was drunken with the red wine of
innocent young love.
"Why, Dad, you're crazy!" he cried. "There isn't another girl in
the whole world as pretty and sweet as Polly. Milly York? She
can't hold a candle to Polly! Besides, she's been Adam's as long
as Polly has been mine!"
"God bless my soul!" cried Mr. Peters. "How these youngsters to
run away with us. And are you the most beautiful young man at
Bates Corners, Henry?"
"I'm beautiful enough that Polly will put her arms around my neck
and kiss me, anyway," blurted Henry. "So you and Ma can get ready
for a wedding as soon as Polly says the word. I'm ready, right
now."
"So am I," said Mr. Peters, "and from the way Ma complains about
the work I and you boys make her, I don't think she will object to
a little help. Polly is a good, steady worker."
Polly ran, but she simply could not light the fire, set the table,
and get things cooked on time, while everything she touched seemed
to spill or slip. She could not think what, or how, to do the
usual for the very good reason that Henry Peters was a Prince, and
a Knight, and a Lover, and a Sweetheart, and her Man; she had just
agreed to all this with her soul, less than an hour ago under the
red haw. No wonder she was late, no wonder she spilled and
smeared; and red of face she blundered and bungled, for the first
time in her life. Then in came Kate. She must lose no time, the
corn must be finished before it rained. She must hurry -- for the
first time dinner was late, while Polly was messing like a perfect
little fool.