Sue was armed with thick gloves and a pair of pruning-nippers.  Minturn threw a spade and pickaxe on his shoulder, and Mr. Banning, whom Sue had warned threateningly “never to be far away,” tramped at their side as they went up the lane.  Apparently there was no need of such precaution, for the young man seemed wholly bent on getting up the trees, most of which she had selected and marked during recent rambles.  She helped now vigorously, pulling on the young saplings as they loosened the roots, then trimming them into shape.  More than once, however, she detected glances, and his thoughts were more flattering than she imagined.  “What vigor she has in that supple, rounded form!  Her very touch ought to put life into these trees; I know it would into me.  How young she looks in that comical old dress which barely reaches her ankles!  Yes, Hal Minturn; and remember, that trim little ankle can put a firm foot down for or against you—­so no blundering.”

He began to be doubtful whether he would make his grand attack that day, and finally decided against it, unless a very favorable opportunity occurred, until her plan of birthday-work had been carried out and he had fulfilled the obligation into which he had entered in the morning.  He labored on manfully, seconding all her wishes, and taking much pains to get the young trees up with an abundance of fibrous roots.  At last his assiduity induced her to relent a little, and she smiled sympathetically as she remarked, “I hope you are enjoying yourself.  Well, never mind; some other day you will fare better.”

“Why should I not enjoy myself?” he asked in well-feigned surprise.  “What condition of a good time is absent?  Even an April day has forgotten to be moody, and we are having unclouded, genial sunshine.  The air is delicious with springtime fragrance.  Were ever hemlocks so aromatic as these young fellows?  They come out of the ground so readily that one would think them aware of their proud destiny.  Of course I’m enjoying myself.  Even the robins and sparrows know it, and are singing as if possessed.”

“Hadn’t you better give up your law-office and turn farmer?”

“This isn’t farming.  This is embroidery-work.”

“Well, if all these trees grow they will embroider the old place, won’t they?”

“They’ll grow, every mother’s son of ’em.”

“What makes you so confident?”

“I’m not confident.  That’s where you are mistaken.”  And he gave her such a direct, keen look that she suddenly found something to do elsewhere.

“I declare!” she exclaimed mentally, “he seems to read my very thoughts.”