"You must hurry and not be after dark," said the widow.
They went away, but only the moments hurried. They that read here,
though their heads be gray and their hearts heavy, will understand;
for they will remember some little space of time, with seconds
flashing as they went, like dust of diamonds in the hour-glass.
"Don't you remember how you came in the little red sleigh?" she
asked presently.
"No."
"I think it's very grand," said she. "It's so much like a story."
"Do you read stories?"
"All I can get. I've been reading 'Greytower.'"
"I read it last winter," said the boy. "What did you like best in
it?"
"I'm ashamed to tell you," said she, with a quick glance at him.
"Please tell me."
"Oh, the love scenes, of course," said she, looking down with a
sigh, and a little hesitation.
"He was a fine lover."
"I've something in my eye," said she, stopping.
"Perhaps I can get it," said he; "let me try."
"I'm afraid you'll hurt me," said she, looking up with a smile.
"I'll be careful."
He lifted her face a little, his fingers beneath her pretty chin.
Then, taking her long, dark lashes between thumb and finger, he
opened the lids.
"You are hurting," said she, soberly; and now the lashes were
trying to pull free.
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