EMILY listened very anxiously on Monday morning, but “no sound of axe¹, no ponderous² 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 accosted³ 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 wiled⁴ the heart out av Father Cassidy’s body,” he said. “‘The sweetest scrap⁵ 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 kindling⁶ 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 humble⁷. 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.”

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