I learned what it said about the ones I
liked best years ago."
"Where?"
"At the Olympian Exposition."
"I was there," said Ruth; "it was the summer we came home from Europe.
Perhaps that was where I saw you. I know I saw you somewhere before
you came here."
"Perhaps," said Sandy, skipping a bit of bark across the water.
A band of yellow butterflies on wide wings circled about them, and
one, mistaking Ruth's rosy wet fingers for a flower, settled there for
a long rest.
"Look!" she whispered; "see how long it stays!"
"It's not meself would be blaming it for forgetting to go away," said
Sandy.
They both laughed, then Ruth leaned over the boat's side and pretended
to be absorbed in her reflection in the water. Sandy had not learned
that unveiled glances are improper, and if his lips refrained from
echoing the vireo's song, his eyes were less discreet.
"You've got a dimple in your elbow!" he cried, with the air of one
discovering a continent.
"I haven't," declared she, but the dimple turned State's evidence.
The sun had gone under a cloud as the afternoon shadows began to
lengthen, and a light tenderer than sunlight and warmer than moonlight
fell across the river. The water slipped over the stones behind them
with a pleasant swish and swirl, and the mint that was crushed by the
prow of their boat gave forth an aromatic perfume.
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