“Mr. Bates looks like he’s lost his best friend,” went on the irrepressible girl.  “Look how he wabbles; he walks like he was following a plough in new ground.  I wouldn’t want him to swing my parasol about that way.  What do you reckon ails him?”

“I don’t know,” said Westerfelt.  Her words irritated him like the persistent buzzing of a mosquito.

“I wonder if that fellow is goose enough to go an’ fall in love with Harriet.”

“What if he should?” Westerfelt was interested.

“She hain’t in love with him.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know?  Because she is silly enough to be gone on a man that don’t care a snap for her.”

“Wambush?”

“No,” scornfully; “you, that’s who.”

Westerfelt was silent for a moment, then he said:  “How do you know I don’t care for her?”

“You don’t show it; you always stay away from her.  They say you’ve been spoiled to death by girls over the mountain.”

“I asked her to come out here with me to-day.”

“Did you?  You don’t mean it!  Well, I’ll bet she—­but I’m not goin’ to tell you; you are vain enough already.”  They were silent for several minutes after that.  She seated herself on a log by the roadside, and he stood over her, his eyes on the pines behind which Bates and Harriet had disappeared.  What could be keeping them so long?  Jennie prattled on for half an hour, but he did not hear half she said.  Afternoon service began.  The preacher gave out the hymn in a solemn, monotonous voice, and the congregation sang it.

“We must be goin’ purty soon,” said Jennie; “my gracious, what is the matter with them people; hadn’t we better go hunt ’em?”

“I think not, they—­but there they are now.”

Harriet and Bates had turned into the road from behind a clump of blackberry vines, and, with their heads hung down, were slowly approaching.  Looking up and seeing Westerfelt and Jennie, they stopped, turned their faces aside, and continued talking.

Westerfelt was numb all over.  Had she accepted Bates?  He tried to read their faces, but even the open countenance of Bates revealed nothing.

“Come on, you ninnies!” Jennie cried out.  “What on earth are you waiting for?”

Her voice jarred on Westerfelt.  “Hush! for God’s sake, hush!” he commanded, sharply.  “Let’s go on—­they don’t want us!”

Wondering over his vehemence, Jennie rose quickly and followed him.  He walked rapidly.  She glanced over her shoulder at Harriet and Bates, but Westerfelt did not look back.  When the shed was reached, Jennie asked him if he were going in with her, but he shook his head, and she entered alone.  He remained in the crowd on the outside, pretending to be listening to the sermon, but was furtively watching the spot where, concealed by the trees, Bates and Harriet still lingered.