Mark was left, nothing loath, to walk home with the girls.  Do not think he was wanting in affection for his cousin Lizzy, if he wished that she were, just for one hour, a hundred miles away.  They took a path that led over the plain to the river, intending to cross upon a foot-bridge, a short distance above the village.  But though Mark was obliged to be silent on the matter he had most at heart, Mildred was not unaware of his feelings.  A tone, a look, a grasp of the hand serves for an index, quite as well as the most fervent speech.  The river makes a beautiful bend near the foot-bridge, and its bank is covered with a young growth of white pines.  They sat down on a hillock, under the trees, whose spicy perfume filled the air, and looked down the stream towards the village.  How fair it lay in the soft air of that June day!  The water was deep and blue, with a reflected heaven.  The mills that cluster about the dam, a mile below, were partially concealed by young elms, silver-poplars, and water-maples.  Gardens sloped on either bank to the water’s edge.  Neat, white houses gleamed through the trees and shrubbery around the bases of the hills that hem in the valley; and the tall, slender spire of the meeting-house shewed fairly against its densely-wooded background.  Verily, if I were a painter, I should desire no lovelier scene for my canvas than that on which Mark and Mildred looked.  Lizzy walked away, and began hunting checkerberries with an unusual ardor.  She did understand; she would not be Mademoiselle de Trop any longer.  Kind soul! so unlike young women in general, who won’t step aside gracefully, when they should!  Further I can vouch, that she neither hemmed, nor made eyes, nor yet repeated the well-worn proverb, “Two’s company, but three’s none.”  No, she gathered berries and sang snatches of songs as though she were quite alone.

Now those of my readers who have the good-fortune still to linger in teens are expecting that I shall treat them to a report of this delightful tete-a-tete.  But it must not be told.  The older people would skip it, or say, “Pshaw!” And besides, if it were set down faithfully, you would be sadly disappointed; the cleverest men, even, are quite sure to appear silly (to other people) when in love.  The speeches of the Romeos and Claude Melnottes, with which you have been so enchanted, would be common-place enough, if translated into the actual prose in which they were delivered.  When Shakspeare wooed Anne Hathaway, it might have been different; but consider, you will wait some time before you find a lover like him.  No, when your time comes, it will be soon enough.  You will see your hero in his velvet cloak and plumed hat, with the splendor of scenery and the intoxication of the music.  I don’t choose to show him to you in morning dress at rehearsal, under daubed canvas and dangling machinery.