be over...

But before he plunged Dave thought he should say a few appropriate last words such as "I love him not too little but too much" (Was that the way it went?) or " "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have been loved," or something like that. But he was afraid he didn't have the quotations quite right, and since it wouldn't do to quote inaccurately from your dying lips, he hesitated. It was nearly dark. Then a dim patch of light showed itself below as the barn door opened. It was Paul. Without another thought Dave leaped into the Grand Canyon-suddenly become-haystack to meet him.

"Sorry to be late," said Paul, "I had to stay after school because I was caught trying to pass a note to you. You didn't see me in the hall, I guess. I thought you were sore at me.

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"Paul, Paul! How could you imagine such a thing? Did the old hag get the note?"

"She sure tried, but I ate it."

"You did this for me?" Dave half knew he was being theatrical, but it seemed so appropriate he didn't care.

"Well, I'm here." They both laughed.

"What did the note say?"

"It said, 'I love you and will meet you in the barn.'"

"Paul! I can't live without you. Come. We must run away together!" "Where?"

"Where? Well, I don't now where. What does it matter? Nothing matters

one

now but the two of us!"

"Okay, but I have to pitch some hay for the critters or my old man'll give me holy hell.”

"Oh, sure, and I have to go, too. But when'll I see you again?"

"Same place, same time."

"Yes, yes!" said Dave, and he grabbed Paul by the shoulders and kissed him on the lips. "Tell me that you like me as much as I like you. Tell me!" "I love you, Dave boy."

Dave ran to the street and toward the hill, for he was late to supper. The reeds by the water were golden strands of tender fragrance as he passed them now, and the grey creek had grown purple in the mystic autumn twilight. The whole world was exquisite as he had never beheld it. The sky, on recent nights bleak and autumnal, was now a great dome of sparkling jewels highlighted with color and fire. Dave sprang up the hill.

He was in love! This, was what all the poets wrote about. But how could he be in love with Paul when Paul was a boy? It was confusing but seemed unimportant. There couldn't be another feeling like this in all of life. He wanted to shout in the streets that he loved Paul. What would his Dad say? Would he object? How could he when confronted with such glorious, overpowering emotion? Love was good. Love was pure. God was love. That's what they taught you in Sunday school. But he remembered his Dad's face when he had accused him of spending too much time with "that

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