You could come all the way to our gate with me, I expect, unless you'd be late home for your supper." "Well--well, I'd be perfectly willing," Ramsey said.

"Only I heard we all had to go back in whatever wagon we came out in, and I didn't come in the same wagon with you, so--" Milla laughed and leaned toward him a little.

"I already 'tended to that," she said confidentially.

"I asked Johnnie Fiske, that came out in my wagon, to go back in yours, so that makes room for you." "Well--then I guess I could do it." He moved toward the wagon with her.
"I expect it don't make much difference one way or the other." "And you can carry my basket if you want to," she said, adding solicitously, "Unless it's too heavy when you already got your guitar case to carry, Ramsey." This thoughtfulness of hers almost overcame him; she seemed divine.
He gulped, and emotion made him even pinker than he had been under the mayonnaise.
"I--I'll be glad to carry the basket, too," he faltered.

"It-it don't weigh anything much." "Well, let's hurry, so's we can get places together." Then, as she manoeuvred him through the little crowd about the wagon, with a soft push this way and a gentle pull that, and hurried him up the improvised steps and found a place where there was room for them to sit, Ramsey had another breathless sensation heretofore unknown to him.
He found himself taken under a dovelike protectorship; a wonderful, inexpressible Being seemed to have become his proprietor.
"Isn't this just perfectly lovely ?" she said cozily, close to his ear.
He swallowed, but found no words, for he had no thoughts; he was only an incoherent tumult.