Not that her beauty overwhelmed him, for though she had
a portion of energetic good-health and freckled prettiness, he had chosen
her as an Indian chooses flint for his steel; one could strike fire from
Betty Neal. When he was far away he loved her without doubt or question and
his trust ran towards her like a river setting towards the ocean because he
knew that her heart was as big and as true as the heart of Grey Molly
herself. Only her ways were fickle, and when she came near, she filled him
with uneasiness, suspicion.
Chapter III. Battle
On the road he passed Miss Brewster--for the Alder school boasted two
teachers!--and under her kindly, rather faded smile he felt a great desire
to stop and take her into his confidence; ask her what Betty Neal had been
doing all these months. Instead, he touched Grey Molly with the spurs, and
she answered like a watch-spring uncurling beneath him. The rush of wind
against his face raised his spirits to a singing pitch, and when he flung
from the saddle before the school he shouted: "Oh, Betty!"
Up the sharply angling steps in a bound, and at the door: "Oh, Betty!"
His voice filled the room with a thick, dull echo, and there was Betty
behind her desk looking up at him agape; and beside her stood Blondy
Hansen, big, good looking, and equally startled.
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