And before I knew what she meant to do, she stooped down and kissed me on the lips—­kissed me several times.  I can not claim that I was offended, she was so pretty, so rosy, so young and attractive; but at the same time, I was a little scared.  I wanted to end this situation; so, pretty soon, I proposed that we go down to see where I kept my milk.  I felt like calling her attention to the fact that it was getting well along in the afternoon, and that she would be late home if she did not start soon; but that would not be very friendly, and I did not want to hurt her feelings.  So we went down to the spring at the foot of the hill, where the secret lay of my nice, firm, sweet butter.  She did not seem very much interested, even when I showed her the tank in which the pans of milk stood in the cool water.  She soon went over to a big granite boulder left there by the glaciers ages ago when the hill was made by the melting ice dropping its earth and gravel, and sat down as if to rest.  So I went and sat beside her.

“Jacob,” said she, with a sort of gasp, “you wonder why I kissed you up there, don’t you?”

I should not have confessed this when I was young, for it is not the man’s part I played; but I blushed, and turned my face away.

“I love you, Jacob!” she took my hand as she said this, and with her other hand turned my face toward her.  “I want you to marry me.  Will you, Jacob?  I—­I—­I need you.  I’ll be good to you, Jake.  Don’t say no!  Don’t say no, for God’s sake!”

Then the tragic truth seemed to dawn on me, or rather it came like a flash; and I turned and looked at her as I had not done before.  I am slow, or I should have known when her father and mother had spoken as they did; but now I could see.  I could see why she needed me.  As an unsophisticated boy, I had been blind in my failure to see something new and unexpected to me in human relations; but once it came to me, it was plain.  I was a stockman, as well as a boy; and my life was closely related to the mysterious processes by which the world is filled with successive generations of living beings.  I was like a family physician to my animals; and wise in their days and generations.  Rowena was explained to me in a flash of lightning by my every-day experiences; she was swept within the current of my knowledge.

“Rowena,” said I, “you are in trouble.”

She knew what I meant.

I hope never again to see any one in such agony.  Her face flamed, and then turned as white as a sheet.  She looked at me with that distressful expression in her eyes, rose as if to go away, and then came back and sitting down again on the stone, she buried her head on my breast and wept so terribly that I was afraid.  I tried to dry her tears, but they burst out afresh whenever I looked in her face.  The poor thing was ashamed to look in my eyes; but she clung to me, sobbing, and crying out, and then drawing long quivering breaths, which seemed to be worse than sobs.  When she spoke, it was in short, broken sentences, sometimes unfinished, as her agony returned upon her and would not let her go on.