At last the wagon was loaded with trees enough to occupy the holes which had been dug, and they started for the vicinity of the farmhouse again.  Mr. Banning had no match-making proclivities where Sue was concerned, as may be well understood, and had never been far off.  Minturn, however, had appeared so single-minded in his work, so innocent of all designs upon his daughter, that the old man began to think that this day’s performance was only a tentative and preliminary skirmish, and that if there were danger it lurked in the unknown future.  He was therefore inclined to be less vigilant, reasoning philosophically, “I suppose it’s got to come some time or other.  It looks as if Sue might go a good deal further than this young man and fare worse.  But then she’s only eighteen, and he knows it.  I guess he’s got sense enough not to plant his corn till the sun’s higher.  He can see with half an eye that my little girl isn’t ready to drop, like an over-ripe apple.”  Thus mixing metaphors and many thoughts, he hurried ahead to open the gate for Hiram.

“I’m in for it now,” thought Sue, and she instinctively assumed an indifferent expression and talked volubly of trees.

“Yes, Miss Banning,” he said formally, “by the time your hair is tinged with gray the results of this day’s labor will be seen far and wide.  No passenger in the cars, no traveller in the valley, but will turn his eyes admiringly in this direction.”

“I wasn’t thinking of travellers,” she answered, “but of making an attractive home in which I can grow old contentedly.  Some day when you have become a gray-haired and very dignified judge you may come out and dine with us again.  You can then smoke your cigar under a tree which you helped to plant.”

“Certainly, Miss Banning.  With such a prospect, how could you doubt that I was enjoying myself?  What suggested the judge?  My present appearance?”

The incongruity of the idea with his absurd aspect and a certain degree of nervousness set her off again, and she startled the robins by a laugh as loud and clear as their wild notes.

“I don’t care,” she cried.  “I’ve had a jolly birthday, and am accomplishing all on which I had set my heart.”

“Yes, and a great deal more, Miss Banning,” he replied with a formal bow.  “In all your scheming you hadn’t set your heart on my coming out and—­does modesty permit me to say it?—­helping a little.”

“Now, you have helped wonderfully, and you must not think I don’t appreciate it.”

“Ah, how richly I am rewarded!”

She looked at him with a laughing and perplexed little frown, but only said, “No irony, sir.”