felt bad enough when you refused to marry me, Sara; but it’s well that you didn’t. I’m man enough to be thankful my troubles don’t fall on you.”
Sara stopped and turned to him. Beyond them the lane opened into a field and a clear lake of crocus sky cast a dim light into the shadow where they stood. Above it was a new moon, like a gleaming silver scimitar. Sara saw it was over her left shoulder, and she saw Lige’s face above her, tender and troubled.
“Lige,” she said softly, “do you love me still?”
“You know I do,” said Lige sadly.
That was all Sara wanted. With a quick movement she nestled into his arms, and laid her warm, tear-wet cheek against his cold one.
When the amazing rumor that Sara was going to marry Lige Baxter, and go out West with him, circulated through the Andrews clan, hands were lifted and heads were shaken. Mrs. Jonas puffed and panted up the hill to learn if it were true. She found Mrs. Eben stitching for dear life on an “Irish Chain” quilt, while Sara was sewing the diamonds on another “Rising Star” with a martyrlike expression on her face. Sara hated patchwork above everything else, but Mrs. Eben was mistress up to a certain point.
“You'll have to make that quilt, Sara Andrews.
