But while John felt sorry for himself in this matter, yet was far too sane
and common-sensible to resent it, another wondrous thing fell out, and
Harry Wade got in a rare sort of fix that promised more fret and strain
than all his other adventures put together. For, along of one thing and
another, though the true details never reached but two ears, he was up
against a new and tremendous experience and from being a heart-whole man
with no great admiration on the women, he felt a wakening and a stir and
knew 'twas love.
For Millicent Meadows he went through the usual torments, and his case
weren't bettered by William Parsloe neither, because when he confessed to
the man, who had got to be his friend, that Millicent was a piece very
much out of the common, Bill told him that he weren't the first by many as
had thought the same.
"But she's not for men," said Parsloe. "All sorts have offered, and good
'uns, including myself I may tell you in confidence; but the man ain't
born to win Millicent Meadows."
However, Wade, he set to it, and after a lot of patient skirmishing he
began to see faint signs of hope. He held in, however, so powerful as his
nature would let him until the signs heartened the man for a dash at last,
and 'twas by Hound's Pool on a May day with the bluebells beside the
water, and the cherry blossom tasselling over their heads--that he told
the girl she was the light of his spring and the breath of his life.
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