She heard enough to know that the couple just ahead was Sam Bobbins and
his wife, Dudy; the Sam Bobbins who tried to get rich raising violets
and failed; who then began raising mushrooms in his cellar and failed;
who last year spent good money trying to raise pedigreed dogs and
failed; and who only the week before paid ten dollars for a fancy
rooster and was happily telling his neighbors how rich he was going to
be, selling fighting stock. His wife stepped on her skirt and ripped
it. Jocelyn could hear her worried wail and Sam comforting her with
promises of new dresses when the roosters began to sell. She could
hear fat Mrs. Glenn puffing and laughing her way up the little crests
of the road and could guess that her thin husband was doing his best to
help her.
She was so interested in the folks ahead that she forgot to be afraid
and never once glanced back into the shadows. Had she done so she
might have seen David loitering along, keeping faithful watch over her.
So nicely did he time his steps that when she reached the door of the
minister's country house he was right behind her, and all Green Valley
saw them come in together.
When Jocelyn, in slipping from her evening wrap, turned and saw him and
flushed, he covered her confusion by saying reproachfully but gently:
"Those slippers are ever so pretty, Jocelyn, but you ought not to wear
them on these rough country roads and they are hardly warm enough for
these cool evenings, are they?"
She gave him a little smile full of saucy wickedness for she heard the
pain in his voice and saw the lover's hunger in his eyes and knew that
she was loved well and truly.
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