"You promised once to farm for me and--you won't
ever leave--_ever_ leave me any more, will you?"
"No, never," answered Everett as he took both her hands and at arms'
length pressed them against his breast, "I'm not going to enact over
again the role of poor chap obliged to be persuaded into matrimony by
heiress, but I'm going to take my own and buckle down and see that you
people get every cent of that dig-up that's coming to you. With the
reputation this find gives me I'll be able to jolly well grubstake
with commissions from now on, but I'll hit no trail after this with a
mule-pack that can't carry double, Mary of the Rose."
"And that doesn't always lead back in just a little time to--to the
nesties?" she asked with the dove stars deep in the pools of her eyes,
while ever so slightly her hands drew him toward her.
"Always a blazed, short cut when they need--us," he answered,
yielding, then paused a moment and held himself from her and said,
looking deep into the eyes raised to his, "Truly, rose woman, am I
that beggar-man who came over the Ridge, cold, and in the tatters of
his disillusion? Do you suppose Old Harpeth has given me this warm
garment of ideals that wraps me now for keeps?"
"Of course, he has, for it's made for you of your--Father's love. And
isn't it--rose-colored?"
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Rose of Old Harpeth, by Maria Thompson Daviess
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSE OF OLD HARPETH ***
***** This file should be named 15195.
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