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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Do you know what I was thinking about when I opened the book and saw it was from you?" "No; what?" "Why, I thought, we'll read this book together, you and I." "Wouldn't that be fine!" "We can't do that now, of course; but after a while when we get more time. I'll not read it until then.... Well, you're tired. Go to bed. Good night, Carlia." "Goodnight, Dorian, and thank you for helping me."
As she straightened, with a three-legged stool in one hand and a foaming milk pail in the other, she looked toward Dorian. "O, is that you? You scared me." "Why?" "A stranger coming so suddenly." The young man laughed. "Nearly through?" he asked. "Just one more Brindle, the kickey one." "Aren't you afraid of her?" Carlia laughed scornfully. The girl had beautiful white teeth.
No man irrigates with a hoe; that's a woman's tool. Ah, the secret was out! Carlia was 'tending' the water. That's why she was not at the party. He stood looking down into the shadows of the corn rows, but for the moment he could see or hear nothing. He had frightened her, and yet Carlia was not usually afraid. He began to whistle softly and to walk down into the corn.
At first the mother was angry, but when she saw the troubled face of her boy, she relented, not wishing to add to his misery. She even smiled at the calamitous ending of those books. "My boy, I see that you have been sorely tempted, and I am sorry that you lost your books. The wetting that Carlia gave you did no harm ... but you must have some shoes by tomorrow. Wait."
As a child, his prayers had been very largely a set form, but as he had come in contact with life and its experiences, he had learned to suit his prayers to his needs. Just now, Carlia and her welfare was the burden of his petitions. The University course must wait another year, so Dorian and his mother decided.
Dorian was not only ill at ease himself, but he was bewildered. He seated himself on the sofa. Carlia took a chair on the other side of the room and gazed out of the window into the night. "Carlia, why did you why do you," he stammered. "Why shouldn't I?" she replied, somewhat defiantly as if she understood his unfinished question. "You know you should not. It's wrong. Who is he anyway?"
The old-time roses, somewhat modified, were in her cheeks, the old-time red tinted the full lips; but she was more mature, less of a girl and more of a woman; and to Dorian she was more beautiful than ever. "Carlia," he again ventured, "I'm glad to see you; but you don't seem very pleased with your neighbor. Why did you run from me out there?" "You startled me." "Yes; I suppose I did.
By the time they reached the gate, Carlia was herself again, and inclined to look upon her wetting and escape as quite an adventure. "There," said Dorian as he seated the girl on the broad top of the gate post; "I'll leave you there to dry. It won't take long." He looked at his own wet clothes, and then at his ragged, mud-laden shoes.
Toward the close of the afternoon, Dorian appeared. He found the girls out in the yard, Carlia seated on the topmost pole of the corral fence, and Mildred standing beside her. "Hello girls," Dorian greeted. "I've come to give you an invitation." "What, a party!" exclaimed Carlia, jumping down from her perch. "Not a dancing party, you little goose just a surprise party." "On who?" "On Uncle Zed."
It was the time when I read what Uncle Zed had written about sin and death." "O, I had not intended you to see that." "But I did, and I read carefully every word of it. I understood most of it, too. 'The wages of sin is death' That applies to me. I am a sinner. I shall die. I have already died, according to Uncle Zed." "No, Carlia, you misapply that.
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