"Co' boss! Co' boss! Co' boss!" she was calling, in a sweet,
girlish treble.
Trove came up to the gate, and presently her big, dark eyes were
looking into his own. That very moment he trembled before them as
a reed shaken by the wind. Long after then, he said that something
in her voice had first appealed to him. Her soft eyes were,
indeed, of those that quicken the hearts of men. It is doubtful if
there were, in all the world, a lovelier thing than that wild
flower of girlhood up there in the hills. She was no dream of
romance, dear reader. In one of the public buildings of a certain
capital her portrait has been hanging these forty years, and wins,
from all who pass it, the homage of a long look. But Trove said,
often, that she was never quite so lovely as that day she stood
calling the cows--her shapely, brown face aglow with the light of
youth, her dark hair curling on either side as it fell to her
shoulders.
"Good day," said he, a little embarrassed.
"Good day," said she, coolly, turning toward the house.
Trove was now in the midst of the cattle. Suddenly a dog rushed
upon them, and they took fright. For a moment the boy was in
danger of being trampled, but leaped quickly to the backs of the
cows and rode to safety.
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