The chairs were now pushed back, and Mrs. Trent threw a cloth over the table just as it stood, explaining that she would not take the time from her company to devote to the dishes.  She invited them into Dorian’s little room, much to that young man’s uneasiness.

His mother had tidied the room, so it was presentable.  His picture, “Sunset in Marshland” had been lowered a little on the wall, and directly over it hung a photograph of Mildred Brown.  To Dorian’s questioning look, Mrs. Trent explained, that Mrs. Brown had sent it just the other day.  Dorian looked closely at the beautiful picture, and a strange feeling came over him.  Had Mildred gone on in this eternal course of progress of which Uncle Zed had been speaking?  Was she still away ahead of him?  Would he ever reach her?

On his study table were a number of books, birthday presents.  One was from Uncle Zed’s precious store, and one—­What?  He picked it up—­“David Copperfield.”  He opened the beautiful volume and read on the fly leaf:  “From Carlia, to make up a little for your loss.”  He remembered now that Carlia, some time before, had asked him what books were in the package which had gone down the canal at the time when he had pulled her out of the water.  Carlia had not forgotten; and she was not here; the supper was over, and it was getting late.  Why had she not come?

The party broke up early, as it was a busy season with them all.  Dorian walked home with Uncle Zed, then he had a mind to run over to Carlia’s.  He could not forget about her absence nor about the present she had sent.  He had never read the story, and he would like to read it to Carlia.  She had very little time, he realized, which was all the more reason for his making time to read it to her.

As every country boy will, at every opportunity, so Dorian cut crosslots to his objective.  He now leaped the fence, and struck off through the meadow up into the corn field.  Mr. Duke had a big, fine field that season, the growing corn already reaching to his shoulder.  The night was dark, save for the twinkling stars in the clear sky; it was still, save for the soft rustling of the corn in the breeze.

Dorian caught sight of a light as of a lantern up by the ditch from which the water for irrigating was turned into the rows of corn and potatoes.  He stopped and listened.  A tool grated in the gravelly soil.  Mr. Duke was no doubt using his night turn at the water on his corn instead of turning it on the hay-land as was the custom.  He would inquire of him about Carlia.

As he approached the light, the scraping ceased, and he saw a dark figure dart into the shelter of the tall corn.  When he reached the lantern, he found a hoe lying in the furrow where the water should have been running.  No man irrigates with a hoe; that’s a woman’s tool.  Ah, the secret was out!  Carlia was ‘tending’ the water.  That’s why she was not at the party.

He stood looking down into the shadows of the corn rows, but for the moment he could see or hear nothing.  He had frightened her, and yet Carlia was not usually afraid.  He began to whistle softly and to walk down into the corn.  Then he called, not loudly, “Carlia”.