"Why should we bother about other people?
I am going with Betsy and Belshazzar." The Harvester had been thinking that he adored her, that it was impossible to love her more, but every minute was proving to him that he was capable of feeling so profound it startled him.

To carry the Girl, his bride, through the valley and up the hill in the little spring wagon drawn by Betsy--that would have been his ideal way.

But he had supposed that she would be afraid of soiling her dress, and embarrassed to ride in such a conveyance.

Instead it was her choice.

Yes, he could love her more.