Sue nipped at the young trees further and further away from the young man who must “play spy before being lover.”  The spy helped Mr. Banning set out the last tree.  Meantime, the complacent farmer had mused:  “The little girl’s safe for another while, anyhow.  Never saw her more offish; but things looked squally about dinner-time.  Then, she’s only eighteen; time enough years hence.”  At last he said affably, “I’ll go in and hasten supper, for you’ve earned it if ever a man did, Mr. Minturn.  Then I’ll drive you down to the evening train.”  And he hurried away.

Sue’s back was toward them, and she did not hear Minturn’s step until he was close beside her.  “All through,” he said; “every tree out.  I congratulate you; for rarely in this vale of tears are plans and hopes crowned with better success.”

“Oh, yes,” she hastened to reply; “I am more than satisfied.  I hope that you are too.”

“I have no reason to complain,” he said.  “You have stood by your morning’s bargain, as I have tried to.”

“It was your own fault, Mr. Minturn, that it was so one-sided.  But I’ve no doubt you enjoy spicing your city life with a little lark in the country.”

“It was a one-sided bargain, and I have had the best of it.”

“Perhaps you have,” she admitted.  “I think supper will be ready by the time we are ready for it.”  And she turned toward the house.  Then she added, “You must be weary and anxious to get away.”

“You were right; my bones do ache.  And look at my hands.  I know you’ll say they need washing; but count the blisters.”

“I also said, Mr. Minturn, that you would know better next time.  So you see I was right then and am right now.”

“Are you perfectly sure?”

“I see no reason to think otherwise.”  In turning, she had faced a young sugar-maple which he had aided her in planting early in the afternoon.  Now she snipped at it nervously with her pruning-shears, for he would not budge, and she felt it scarcely polite to leave him.

“Well,” he resumed, after an instant, “it has a good look, hasn’t it, for a man to fulfil an obligation literally?”

“Certainly, Mr. Minturn,” and there was a tremor in her tone; “but you have done a hundred-fold more than I expected, and never were under any obligations.”

“Then I am free to begin again?”

“You are as free now as you have been all day to do what you please.”  And her shears were closing on the main stem of the maple.  He caught and stayed her hand.  “I don’t care!” she cried almost passionately.  “Come, let us go in and end this foolish talk.”

“But I do care,” he replied, taking the shears from her, yet retaining her hand in his strong grasp.  “I helped you plant this tree, and whenever you see it, whenever you care for it, when, in time, you sit under its shade or wonder at its autumn hues, I wish you to remember that I told you of my love beside it.  Dear little girl, do you think I am such a blind fool that I could spend this long day with you at your home and not feel sorry that I must ever go away?  If I could, my very touch should turn the sap of this maple into vinegar.  To-day I’ve only tried to show how I can work for you.  I am eager to begin again, and for life.”