ago: I used to ride her up to this door an' tie her to that tree out there it was a saplin' then. An' now she's dead."
The man's voice trembled, and his listener was strangely silent.
"You know on what errands the old horse used to bring me," he went on, "but it wasn't to be,—then. Hester," he rose, went over to her, and looked down into her half-averted face, which went red and pale by turns, "Hester, 'ain't we wasted time enough?"
There was a long pause before she lifted her face: he stood watching her with the light of a great eagerness in his eyes. At last she spoke. There was a catch in her voice; it was softer than usual.
"'Liphalet," she began, "I'm right glad you remember those days. I ain't never furgot 'em myself. It's true you 've been a good, loyal friend to me, an' I thank you fur it, but, after all these years—"
He broke in upon her with something like youthful impetuosity. "After all these years," he exclaimed, "an endurin' love ought to be rewarded. Hester, I ain't a-goin' to take 'no' fur an answer. I've got lots o' years o' life in me yet,— we both
