John's wort,
the color of sunset. Back of me lay the long stretch of flat road, and
the fields on either side were scorched with the sun. The heat was
intolerable. Mr. Longworth would carry the flowers for me, and I
resigned them, knowing that nothing is more distasteful to a man than to
be treated like an invalid. And the bunch was really a heavy burden,--I
had gathered such an enormous armful, together with some tender creepers
of blackberry vine. We chatted of the place, of the people, and I found
that my companion had a keen sense of humor. As we neared the house,
after a moment's hesitancy, I asked him to come and rest on the little
porch, where a couple of splint rockers and a palm-leaf fan invited one
to comfort and coolness. He accepted the invitation with alacrity,
though he chose to sit on the wooden steps, while I tilted lazily back
and forth, overcome by the noonday lull and heat.
He looked so boyish when he took off his hat, with the dark little curls
falling over his forehead, that I thought he could not be older than I.
The walk had perhaps been more than he could bear, for he was so pale
that I could not help saying, "Pardon me, Mr. Longworth, but you look
so ill. Will you let me give you a glass of wine?" I had brought a
little with me. He looked slightly annoyed, but he answered gayly,
"I suppose Mrs.
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