`` There ai n't no such dirty pride about Jeff , '' pronounced Christopher conclusively . `` And the Millers are the best family hereabouts , leaving the kunnel 's out . And Jeff 's well off -- nobody knows how well , I reckon , but I can guess , being his land neighbour . Jeff ai n't no fool nor loafer , if he is a bit queer . '' Meanwhile , the object of these remarks was striding homeward and thinking , not of the men behind him , but of Sara Stuart . He must go to her at once . He had not intruded on her since her father 's death , thinking her sorrow too great for him to meddle with . But this was different . Perhaps she needed the advice or assistance only he could give . To whom else in Bayside could she turn for it but to him , her old friend ? Was it possible that she must leave Pinehurst ? The thought struck cold dismay to his soul . How could he bear his life if she went away ? He had loved Sara Stuart from childhood . He remembered vividly the day he had first seen her -- a spring day , much like this one had been ; he , a boy of eight , had gone with his father to the big , sunshiny hill field and he had searched for birds ' nests in the little fir copses along the crest while his father plowed . He had so come upon her , sitting on the fence under the pines at the back of Pinehurst -- a child of six in a dress of purple cloth . Her long , light brown curls fell over her shoulders and rippled sleekly back from her calm little brow ; her eyes were large and greyish blue , straight-gazing and steadfast . To the end of his life the boy was to carry in his heart the picture she made there under the pines . `` Little boy , '' she had said , with a friendly smile , `` will you show me where the mayflowers grow ? '' Shyly enough he had assented , and they set out together for the barrens beyond the field , where the arbutus trailed its stars of sweetness under the dusty dead grasses and withered leaves of the old year .
The boy was thrilled XXXXX delight .
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