He and the white horse stood like statues.
"Barney, why don't you make up with her?
I wish you would." Rose's voice was full of tender inflections; it might have been that of an angel peace-making.
Barney turned around between the handles of the plough, and looked at her steadily.

"You don't know anything about it, Rose," he said.
Rose looked up in his face, and her own was full of fine pleading.
"Oh, Barney," she said, "poor Charlotte does feel so bad! I know that anyhow." "You don't know how I am situated.

I can't--" "Do go and see her, Barney." "Do you think I'm going into Cephas Barnard's house after he's ordered me out ?" "Go up the road a little way, and she'll come and meet you.

I'll run ahead and tell her." Barney shook his head.

"I can't; you don't know anything about it, Rose." He looked into Rose's eyes.