So they slipped beneath the tangle of vines and bushes, and, following the stream of the ravine, they walked until mid-afternoon, when they reached a spot that was very lovely, a clear, clean spring, grassy bank, a sheltered cave-in floored with clean sand, warm and golden.  From the depths of the cave George brought an old frying pan and coffee pot.  He spread a comfort on the sand of the cave for a bed, produced coffee, steak, bread, butter, and fruit from his load, and told Kate to make herself comfortable while he got dinner.  They each tried to make allowances for, and to be as decent as possible with, the other, with the result that before they knew it, they were having a good time; at least, they were keeping the irritating things they thought to themselves, and saying only the pleasant ones.

After a week, which George enjoyed to the fullest extent, while Kate made the best of everything, they put away the coffee pot and frying pan, folded the comforts, and went back to Aunt Ollie’s for dinner; then to Walden in the afternoon.  Because Mrs. Holt knew they would be there that day she had the house clean and the best supper she could prepare ready for them.  She was in a quandary as to how to begin with Kate.  She heartily hated her.  She had been sure the girl had a secret, now she knew it; for if she did not attend the wedding of her sister, if she had not been at home all summer, if her father and mother never mentioned her name or made any answer to any one who did, there was a reason, and a good reason.  Of course a man as rich as Adam Bates could do no wrong; whatever the trouble was, Kate was at fault, she had done some terrible thing.

“Hidin’ in the bushes!” spat Mrs. Holt.  “Hidin’ in the bushes!  Marry a man who didn’t know he was goin’ to be married an hour before, unbeknownst to her folks, an’ wouldn’t even come in the house, an’ have a few of the neighbours in.  Nice doin’s for the school-ma’am!  Nice prospect for George.”

Mrs. Holt hissed like a copperhead, which was a harmless little creature compared with her, as she scraped, and slashed, and dismembered the chicken she was preparing to fry.  She had not been able, even by running into each store in the village, and the post office, to find one person who would say a word against Kate.  The girl had laid her foundations too well.  The one thing people could and did say was:  “How could she marry George Holt?” The worst of them could not very well say it to his mother.  They said it frequently to each other and then supplied the true answers.  “Look how he spruced up after she came!” “Look how he worked!” “Look how he ran after and waited on her!” “Look how nice he has been all summer!” Plenty was being said in Walden, but not one word of it was for the itching ears of Mrs. Holt.  They had told her how splendid Kate was, how they loved her, how glad they were that she was to have the school again, how fortunate her son was, how proud she should be, until she was almost bursting with repressed venom.