TOM GROGAN
look in Carl's face she had not seen before. She had not meant to hurt him, she said to herself.
“What mak' you no lak me anna more, Mees Jan? I big annough to carry da buke,” said Carl.
“Why, how you talk, Carl! I never said such a word,” said Jennie, leaning over the fence, her heart fluttering.
The air was soft as a caress. Opal-tinted clouds with violet shadows sailed above the low hills. In the shade of the fence dandelions had burst into bloom. From a bush near by a song-sparrow flung a note of spring across the meadow.
“Well, you nev' cam' to stable anna more, Mees Jan,” Carl said slowly, in a tender, pleading tone, his gaze on her face.
The girl reached through the fence for the golden flower. She dared not trust herself to look. She knew what was in her lover's eyes.
“I get ta flower,” said Carl, vaulting the fence with one hand.
“No; please don't trouble. Oh, Carl!” she exclaimed suddenly. “The horrid brier! My hand's all scratched!”
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