"Can't you trust me?"

"Yes. I know you won't let me be hurt. But you----"

"Don't worry. Perhaps we shall have a little fun. Just wait."

I could cheerfully have waited a hundred years, and then put it off again; but it didn't look as if we should have to wait long--not more than three-quarters of a dreadful second, with my blood in my head, and all the iced water I had drunk at Newport in my spine.

The cows were delighted. Evidently they regarded the horrid, thick-necked brute as their champion. They didn't follow him towards us, but lifted their heads and stared complacently, as much as to say, "Isn't he a splendid fellow? _Now_ he's going to give them what they deserve."

The rest happened so quickly it was all in a jumble. With a smile, Mr.

Brett reached out and took my sunshade, which I'd closed. Just as the bull came at us, he opened it in the creature's face. The bull swerved a few inches, surprised; and the next thing I knew the sunshade was tossed away, Mr. Brett had seized the animal by his horns, and was vaulting on his back with a laugh. "Run to the nearest fence," said he.

He did it as easily as if it were play, and so it seemed to be for him.

The bull tore about, ramping and raving, while I obediently flew for the fence and scrambled over without ceremony. There I turned, panting, frightened, yet laughing in spite of myself. Mr. Brett's hat had fallen off, and his short hair was ruffled across his forehead. Riding the black and white bull, hanging on by legs, as well as arms, he looked like a runaway schoolboy, revelling in a mischievous "lark." His eyes sparkled, and his white teeth shone.

The bull was sure he could throw his rider at first, but finding he couldn't, was very much surprised. His wild gallop subsided to a trot, and embracing his great neck, Mr. Brett bent far down to one side, to s.n.a.t.c.h up my sunshade, which lay on the gra.s.s, open and undamaged. A few moment's later, he had steered the bull in some curious way with his feet, so that the beast came loping stupidly near the fence. Then Mr. Brett jumped off, and vaulted over.

"That was a good bit of sport," said he. "It reminds me of old times, when we chaps used to ride steers for a wager. I'm a little out of practice now; but I hope you were amused."

"I was much too terrified," I said, thankful that he was on the right side of the fence at last.

"Then I apologise for the exhibition. The silly brute didn't know he was _our_ bull, you see, but I reckon he'll remember now, and act accordingly. Here's your parasol, Lady Betty. I don't think it's hurt.

As for my hat, I'll make the cows a present of it. I don't want to keep you waiting any longer."

"Fancy Daniel when he got safely out of the lions' den going back for his hat!" I exclaimed.

"He was just the sort of man to have done it," said Mr. Brett, "if he hadn't a lady waiting."

After that, nothing else happened to upset us on the way to Sally.

The place where she is staying isn't a farm, but quite a small cottage in a lovely garden, walled in with oaks and maples; and Mrs. Randal sells seeds and cuttings.

A young girl came to the door when we rang, and asked us to "please sit down on the piazza"; she would call Miss Woodburn. Then we had a few minutes to wait, and Sally appeared.

I _was_ glad to see her! And when she held me tight, and kissed me, I had to wink back some silly tears. It was so good to feel that she cared about me, and would sympathise in everything, for I knew she would.

After Mr. Brett had said "how do you do," and a few polite words, he added that he would just stroll over to the Green Dairy Farm across the way. He knew the farmer there, and would like to have a chat with him.

We settled that he was to come back for me in an hour, and then Sally and I were left alone together.

She made me begin at the beginning and tell all my adventures, cause as well as effect, before she would give me any of her news, or even her opinions on the situation as far as it concerned me.

It made quite a long story, and Sally was a beautiful listener, as only sympathetic and unselfish people can be.

"There wasn't anything else for me to do, was there?" I asked, when she knew everything exactly as it had happened.

She complimented me on my "pluck," like the dear creature she is, and said she hadn't it in her heart to be sorry, as things had turned out, that I had had such a chase to find her.

"To tell the truth, it was your affairs that drove me to Chicago," she went on. "I don't mind your knowing now, deah. We can talk freely about things I couldn't discuss with you before. Of course, I always knew Katherine wanted you for Potter, and that they'd both do anything to get you. It began with her trying to keep other men away from you even on the ship. Do you remember? n.o.body could get near you but Tom Doremus, and he wouldn't if Kath hadn't been afraid of Mrs. Van der Windt. It was just the same in Newport, whenever she could fix it so. I couldn't exactly warn you; it wouldn't have been nice. They _are_ my cousins, and I was Kath's guest--though I shouldn't have been for long, if I hadn't wanted to watch over you. But you know I did drop hints sometimes, didn't I? It wasn't my business if you'd fallen in love with Potter, but though he isn't a bad fellow, he's not good enough or strong enough for you, Betty, and I should have been mighty sick at heart if he had got you."

"I never felt he wanted me, really," I said, "although he was always proposing."

"Oh, yes, he did want you. Perhaps he wasn't truly in love at first, though he always admired you, deah. There was an actress that he was crazy about last winter--a nice girl, too, and he would have married her if it hadn't been for Katherine, who was _wild_ over it, said such a mesalliance in the family would ruin her as well as him, and contrived to break it off somehow. Potter never cared for anyone else so much. The girl seemed to understand his temper exactly, and though he was heart and soul for winning you, after the race was begun, I shouldn't wonder a bit--now he's lost you--if that affair didn't come on again some day. He might do worse."

"I wish the girl joy of him," said I. "But how was it you went away from Newport?"

"Oh, I told Kath what I thought of her for trying to trap you. It _was_ that, and nothing else. And she didn't like it. She almost asked me to go, and though I knew it was to get me out of the way, I had to do it.

I wish you could have met Mrs. Hale in Chicago. She is the nicest, quaintest woman. You saw her happy family? Well, she's so kind-hearted that when her horses are out at gra.s.s, she has a big sunbonnet made for each one. You would laugh to see them prancing about with their bonnets flapping. And she stops cab horses in the street to give them sugar.

But after all, it's better for you to be here--with the Trowbridges."

"Mr. Brett has been a saint to me," said I.

Sally smiled her three-cornered smile.

"I think from what you tell me of some of the things you've said to him, and some of the things which have happened, that he _has_ been a saint--more of a saint than you know."

"You mean I've tried his temper?" I asked anxiously.

"Not exactly his temper. But never mind. I'll talk to you about myself now."

So she did. And it seems that this invalid widow, Mrs. Randal, whom she's come to nurse, is the mother of the man she told me about in the Park--the man who turned monk because he loved her, and thought she didn't care.

"I come once or twice a year, even when she's well," said Sally, with the soft voice and eyes which she has for this one subject of all in the world. "It's the best of the few pleasures I have, to be with her and--talk of him; of him when he was a little boy; of him when he was a young man, happy in the thought of the future--not knowing what was to come. I found this little place for her, years ago now. She wasn't happy in Kentucky, for there were relatives there who were not congenial, and used to say things--of her son's religion--which distressed her. But she is old now, and very delicate. She knows I would never forgive her if she didn't have her little maid telegraph for me when she is suffering. I always come at once, and would, no matter where I was. You see, I've no mother of my own; and she is _his_ mother; it's almost the same as if she were mine. But don't look so sad, dear. I'm not sad. She's going to get well. We've been glancing over old photographs of his this evening. She has quite forgiven me for the past."

"I should think so!" I couldn't help exclaiming. "You were the one who suffered most."

"Not more than his mother, child! But she's old, as I said, and thank heaven I'm beginning to grow old, too. Each day is one less before we meet--he and I. That's what I'm looking forward to now, and I'm not a bit sad, so kiss me, and tell me just what you think of those dear things, the Trowbridges."

Going home, Mr. Brett and I walked along the road until we'd pa.s.sed the cow meadow; then we took to the short cuts again. A lovely blue darkness was just touched with the faint radiance of a new moon, as if the lid of a box had snapped shut on the sun; and the moment the light was gone, the fields lit up with thousands and thousands of tiny, pulsing, flitting sparks.

"What _is_ it?" I asked, astonished.

"Fireflies," said he. "Did you never see any before?"

"Never. How wonderful. They are the most exquisite, magical little things!"

"Then I'm glad you're seeing them for the first time with me," he said.

I stopped, and made him stop, to look at the enchanted rain of tiny lights. We stood in a billowy meadow, with the pale gray-green of the stacked oats dimly silvered by the baby moon, that was hurrying down the west after the sun. The bundles of grain made pointed, gothic arches, and through these, back and forth, in and out, threaded the fireflies, like fairies with lanterns searching for lost members of their band.

What a pity they never come to England to search!

When we got home the stars were p.r.i.c.king out in the sky, and Patty and Ide were down by the gate, counting them. It seems, if you can count seven stars for seven nights, then the first man who touches your hand afterwards you're bound to marry. I counted my first seven, and I do hope it won't rain for a week.

Although I had been so longing for tea, I hadn't been hungry, and had scarcely eaten anything when we had it. Now, I was beginning to be starved. We all sat on the verandah, and Mr. Trowbridge told us things about astronomy, in which he seems as learned as in everything else.

By-and-by it was ten o'clock, and Mrs. Trowbridge asked if I weren't tired, and wouldn't like to go to bed. Then I knew the worst. There wasn't going to be any supper.

We all bade each other good-night.

"What time is breakfast?" I asked Mrs. Trowbridge, expecting something abnormal in the way of earliness, but my eyes did open when she said half-past six.