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This line of thought, once begun, seemed so rational that she wondered it had not occurred to her before. “The idea of my being so ridiculously on the defensive!” she thought. “No, it wasn’t ridiculous either, as far as my action went, for he can never say I ACTED as if I wanted him to speak. My conceit in expecting him to speak the moment he got a chance WAS absurd. He has begun to be very polite and formal. That’s always the way with men when they want to back out of anything. He came out to look us over, and me in particular; he made himself into a scarecrow just because I looked like one, and now will go home and laugh it all over with his city friends. Oh, why did he come and spoil my day? Even he said it WAS my day, and he has done a mean thing in spoiling it. Well, he may not carry as much self-complacency back to town as he thinks he will. Such a cold-blooded spirit, too!–to come upon us unawares in order to spy out everything, for fear he might get taken in! You were very attentive and flattering in the city, sir, but now you are disenchanted. Well, so am I.”

Under the influence of this train of thought she grew more and more silent. The sun was sinking westward in undimmed splendor, but her face was clouded. The air was sweet, balmy, well adapted to sentiment and the setting out of trees, but she was growing frosty.

“Hiram,” she said shortly, “you’ve got that oak crooked; let me hold it.” And thereafter she held the trees for the old colored man as he filled in the earth around them.

Minturn appeared as oblivious as he was keenly observant. At first the change in Sue puzzled and discouraged him; then, as his acute mind sought her motives, a rosy light began to dawn upon him. “I may be wrong,” he thought, “but I’ll take my chances in acting as if I were right before I go home.”

At last Hiram said: “Reckon I’ll have to feed de critters again;” and he slouched off.

Sue nipped at the young trees further and further away from the young man who must “play spy before being lover.” The spy helped Mr. Banning set out the last tree. Meantime, the complacent farmer had mused: “The little girl’s safe for another while, anyhow. Never saw her more offish; but things looked squally about dinner- time. Then, she’s only eighteen; time enough years hence.” At last he said affably, “I’ll go in and hasten supper, for you’ve earned it if ever a man did, Mr. Minturn. Then I’ll drive you down to the evening train.” And he hurried away.

Sue’s back was toward them, and she did not hear Minturn’s step until he was close beside her. “All through,” he said; “every tree out. I congratulate you; for rarely in this vale of tears are plans and hopes crowned with better success.”

“Oh, yes,” she hastened to reply; “I am more than satisfied. I hope that you are too.”

“I have no reason to complain,” he said. “You have stood by your morning’s bargain, as I have tried to.”

“It was your own fault, Mr. Minturn, that it was so one-sided. But I’ve no doubt you enjoy spicing your city life with a little lark in the country.”

“It WAS a one-sided bargain, and I have had the best of it.”

“Perhaps you have,” she admitted. “I think supper will be ready by the time we are ready for it.” And she turned toward the house. Then she added, “You must be weary and anxious to get away.”

“You were right; my bones DO ache. And look at my hands. I know you’ll say they need washing; but count the blisters.”

“I also said, Mr. Minturn, that you would know better next time. So you see I was right then and am right now.”