"Oh, Homer!" she cried, "I would be lost indeed then. Oh, no! I could not bear to have you forget me."
His face lighted in the dusk with a happiness that had long been a stranger--a chastened light, perhaps, when compared with the radiance evoked by his first love, but a steadier flame, lit in the heart, not in the eyes alone.
"Well, I will think it all out, Myron; to-morrow will surely find me with a way planned for you. I wish, indeed, that I too could go with you, that I also could find a road out of Jamestown."
He said good-night, and turned to go. He was almost at the gate when she ran after him.
"Wait a moment, Homer," she called softly; "wait!"
"You know how I think of you?" she asked. "You know you are my only friend--my dear friend--my brother? You know this? Do you think that going away from Jamestown will make up for not seeing you? I am afraid--I--I--I think, Homer, I will stay."
Homer gave a little laugh, so sweet these words were to him.
"My dear, you shall go away, and yet shall see me too, sometimes. I could not stand it to be without a sight of My and you now and then."
"Oh, could I see you sometimes? Then think hard to-night, Homer, and find out the way to-morrow."
There was another good-night, and they parted.
The next day Myron, having been sent to the village by Mrs. Deans, went to the grocery store to buy some things for herself, for it was Saturday, and she did not go to Mrs. Deans' on Sunday. Whilst she stood waiting until Mrs. Wilson was served, My ran in and out of the door, a little, tottering figure, clad in a queerly made blue and white checked pinafore. Mrs. Wilson did her shopping leisurely, discoursing upon the pros and cons of asthma the while, for which she strongly recommended the smoking of cigars made of mullein-leaves. She turned from the counter at length, and, passing Myron Holder with uplifted chin, made her way to the door. It was encumbered with an open barrel of salt mackerel, by which stood little My, balancing slowly back and forth on his uncertain feet, the sun glinting on his yellow head. Mrs. Wilson pushed the little form roughly aside and went out. My swayed and fell, striking his head on the step.
Hot anger flushed Myron's cheeks at the incident. She picked up the boy, soothed him with a word or two, and gave him a biscuit from the bag the groceryman was weighing for her. My trotted off to the door, and presently crossed the threshold into the street.