girl; there was enough work in the house for her.  His sister should not work in the field, if he had a sister, and Polly should not work there, if she belonged to him; No-sir-ee!  Polly looked at Henry with shining, young girl eyes, and when he said she was pretty, her blue-gray eyes softened, her cheeks pinked up, the sun put light in her hair nature had failed to, and lo and behold, the marvel was wrought —­ plain little Polly became a thing of beauty.  She knew it instantly, because she saw herself in Henry Peters’ eyes.  And Henry was so amazed when this wonderful transformation took place in little Polly, right there under the red haw tree, that his own eyes grew big and tender, his cheeks flooded with red blood, his heart shook him, and he drew to full height, and became possessed of an overwhelming desire to dance before Polly, and sing to her.  He grew so splendid, Polly caught her breath, and then she smiled on him a very wondering smile, over the great discovery; and Henry grew so bewildered he forgot either to dance or sing as a preliminary.  He merely, just merely, reached out and gathered Polly in his arms, and held her against him, and stared down at her wonderful beauty opening right out under his eyes.

“Little Beautiful!” said Henry Peters in a hushed, choking voice, “Little Beautiful!”

Polly looked up at him.  She was every bit as beautiful as he thought her, while he was so beautiful to Polly that she gasped for breath.  How did he happen to look as he did, right under the red haw, in broad daylight?  He had been hers, of course, ever since, shy and fearful, she had first entered Bates Corners school, and found courage in his broad, encouraging smile.  Now she smiled on him, the smile of possession that was in her heart.  Henry instantly knew she always had belonged to him, so he grasped her closer, and bent his head.

When Henry went back to the plow, and Polly ran down the road, with the joy of the world surging in her heart and brain, she knew that she was going to have to account to her tired, busy mother for being half an hour late with dinner; and he knew he was going to have to explain to an equally tired father why he was four furrows short of where he should be.

He came to book first, and told the truth.  He had seen some men go to the Holts’.  Polly was his little chum; and she was always alone all summer, so he just walked that way to be sure she was safe.  His father looked at him quizzically.

“So that’s the way the wind blows!” he said.  “Well, I don’t know where you could find a nicer little girl or a better worker.  I’d always hoped you’d take to Milly York; but Polly is better; she can work three of Milly down.  Awful plain, though!”

This sacrilege came while Henry’s lips were tingling with their first kiss, and his heart was drunken with the red wine of innocent young love.

“Why, Dad, you’re crazy!” he cried.  “There isn’t another girl in the whole world as pretty and sweet as Polly.  Milly York?  She can’t hold a candle to Polly!  Besides, she’s been Adam’s as long as Polly has been mine!”