“Not when this music and Julia and Pink hold out like that, Bettykin.  It’ll be bad enough when you do hear it,” answered Sam, laughing down at me with the same wide-mouthed smile he had always used on me when holding something over my head and making me reach up for it.  “Besides, it has been two whole weeks since I’ve—­had you,” he added, and again his strong arms cradled as well as guided.  Getting back into some people’s atmosphere is like recovering the use of a lung a person had temporarily lost; breathing improves.  I’ve always breathed easily in Sam’s friendship.  That was why I could dance with him as I did even up to the last bar of the music.  Then he swung me out through one of the long windows on to the porch under the dusky spring starlight.

“I hate to tell you, Betty, though I have walked a five-mile blister on my left heel in these dancing-shoes just to break the news to you,” Sam answered my repeated demand to be told his “worse.”

“Oh, Sam, a real blister?” I exclaimed, losing sight of the threatened catastrophe at the thought of his blistered heel.  I knew how tender Sam’s feet were, for I had doctored them since infancy.  I used to pay tribute in the form of apples and tea-cakes for the privilege of binding up his ten and twelve year old wounded toes, and I suppose I hadn’t really got over my liking for thus operating.

“Oh, not all from the walk,” answered Sam, as he smiled down on me consolingly.  “I’ve got a brand-new mule and I nearly plowed him and myself to death to-day.  I don’t seem to be well heeled enough to plow and dance both.”

“What did you plow, Sam?” I came close up to his shoulder so that the bit of woods in his buttonhole grazed my cheek as my head drooped with an embarrassed hope.

“I plowed for the early potatoes on the south slope and—­and—­”

“And what?”

“I’m thinking of growing a crop of—­hollyhocks, if I get time to plant ’em.”

“Where did you plow, Sam?”

“In spots all over the place.”

“Where?”

“Well, then, about a hundred feet south by southwest from my door-step, if you must have it.  Great sakes! do you think this heel is going to swell, Betty, from your deep experience?”

“I—­I’m so happy, Sam,” I faltered, with more emotion than I knew Sam liked, but I think all apologies ought to be met enthusiastically at the front gate, whether they intended to come in or not.

“Well, I’m not—­I’m blistered.”  He again plaintively referred to his sufferings which I had forgotten in my joy at having him back in the bonds of friendship, even if slightly damaged.

“Come over home with me and I’ll plaster it so it won’t break or swell.  You know I know how,” I answered, eagerly.

“Cold cream and an old handkerchief like you used to keep.  Um—­um! the thought is good, Betty,” he answered, as he stood on his left foot for a second and then lifted it as if he were a huge crane.