“Charley, my boy, what I feared has come to pass!  Last night our new young minister called.  He is a good young man, I know, but so stiff!  Not too stiff, though, to take a good look at Rachel.  We all sat up straight in our chairs.  His eyes were deep and black, his face pale and solemn.  He was all in black, but just the white about his throat.  When the weather, the prospects of the farmers, and of the church, were all over with, then came an awful pause. Then it was that I began to shiver, and that the mischief was done.  ‘Mrs. Sprague.’ he began, ’I understand you have a nephew, not now at home, who taught school last winter in the little village of Norway.’  You may guess the rest.  There was a long talk about you.  Rachel hasn’t said a word, but I see by her face that she is laying some desperate plan.  Now, Charley, is your time!  Hurry home!  Come and spend next Sunday.  Aunt spoke of your coming in four weeks, but I shall look for you next Saturday night.  She gets through work earlier then.  The stage reaches here about sunset.  Stop at the tavern, and run home over the hills.  You will come out behind the orchard, and Rachel and I will be sitting on the branch of the low apple-tree.”

Now I had been getting uneasy for some time.  All this while I had been living on Fanny’s letters.  Now I wanted more.  It was much to know that Rachel loved me, but I longed to hear her say so.  I depended upon her.  She seemed already a part of myself.  My shadowy pinafore-maker had assumed a living form of beauty, and was already more to me than I had ever imagined woman could be to man, than one soul could be to another.  I had always, in common with other men, considered myself as an oak destined in the course of Nature to support some clinging vine; but, if I were an oak-tree, she was another, with an infinitude more of grace and beauty.

As may be supposed, I required no urging to take the Saturday’s stage for home.  We arrived at sunset.  I made for the hills with all speed, rushing through bushes and briers, leaping brooks at a bound, until I came out just behind the orchard.  There I paused.  My happiness seemed so near that I would fain enjoy, before grasping it.  I walked softly along under the trees, until I came in sight of two girls sitting with their arms around each other’s waists upon the low branch of the apple-tree.  There was just room for two.  The branch, after running parallel with the ground for a little way, took a sudden turn upwards; and to this natural seat I had myself, in my younger days, added a back of rough branches.  I came towards them, from behind, and hid myself awhile behind the trunk of a tree.  Fanny was making Rachel talk, making her laugh, in spite of herself, as I could well see.  Then she began to play with her dark hair, twining it prettily about her head, and twisting among it damask roses with their buds,—­for it was June, and our damask rose-bush was then always in full bloom.