EMILY listened very anxiously on Monday morning, but “no sound of axe, no ponderous hammer rang” in Lofty John’s bush. That evening on her way home from school, Lofty John himself overtook her in his buggy and for the first time since the night of the apple stopped and accosted her.
“Will ye take a lift, Miss Emily av New Moon?” he said affably.
Emily climbed in, feeling a little bit foolish. But Lofty John looked quite friendly as he clucked to his horse.
“So you’ve clean wiled the heart out av Father Cassidy’s body,” he said. “‘The sweetest scrap av a girl
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 I’ve iver seen,’ says he to me. Sure an’ ye might lave the poor prastes alone.”
Emily looked at Lofty John out of the corner of her eye. He did not seem angry.
“Ye’ve put me in a nice tight fix av it,” he went on. “I’m as proud as any New Moon Murray av ye all and your Aunt Elizabeth said a number av things that got under my skin. I’ve many an old score to settle with her. So I thought I’d get square by cutting av the bush down. And you had to go and quare me wid me praste bekase av it and now I make no doubt I’ll not be after daring to cut a stick av kindling to warm me shivering carcase without asking lave av the Pope.”
“Oh, Mr. Sullivan, are you going to leave the bush alone?” said Emily breathlessly.
“It all rests with yourself, Miss Emily av New Moon. Ye can’t be after expecting a Lofty John to be too humble. I didn’t come by the name bekase av me makeness.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“First, then, I’m wanting you to let bygones be bygones in that matter av the apple. And be token av the same come over and talk to me now and then as ye did last summer. Sure now, and I’ve missed ye—ye and that spit-fire av an Ilse who’s never come aither bekase she thinks I mistrated you.”
“I’ll come of course,” said Emily doubtfully, “if only Aunt Elizabeth will let me.”
“Tell her if she don’t the bush’ll be cut down—ivery last stick av it. That’ll fetch her. And there’s wan more thing. Ye must ask me rale make and polite to do ye the favour av not cutting down the bush. If ye do it pretty enough sure niver a tree will I touch. But if ye don’t down they go, praste or no praste,” concluded Lofty John.
Emily summoned all her wiles to her aid. She clasped
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 her hands, she looked up through her lashes at Lofty John, she smiled as slowly and seductively as she knew how—and Emily had considerable native knowledge of that sort. “Please, Mr. Lofty John,” she coaxed, “won’t you leave me the dear bush I love?”
Lofty John swept off his crumpled old felt hat. “To be sure an’ I will. A proper Irishman always does what a lady asks him. Sure an’ it’s been the ruin av us. We’re at the mercy av the petticoats. If ye’d come and said that to me afore ye’d have had no need av your walk to White Cross. But mind ye keep the rest av the bargin. The reds are ripe and the scabs soon will be—and all the rats have gone to glory.”
Emily flew into the New Moon kitchen like a slim whirlwind.
“Aunt Elizabeth, Lofty John isn’t going to cut down the bush—he told me he wouldn’t—but I have to go and see him sometimes—if you don’t object.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t make much difference to you if I did,” said Aunt Elizabeth. But her voice was not so sharp as usual. She would not confess how much Emily’s announcement relieved her; but it mellowed her attitude considerably. “There’s a letter here for you. I want to know what it means.”
Emily took the letter. It was the first time she had ever received a real letter through the mail and she tingled with the delight of it.............