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Rob was wild with delight. "Git up there Jack! Hay, you old corncrib! Say, Otto, can you keep your mouth shet if it puts money in your pocket?"

"Jest try me ‘n’ see," said the keen-eyed little scamp. "Well, you keep quiet about my being here this afternoon, and I’ll put a dollar on y’r tongue–hay?–what?–understand?"

"Show me y’r dollar," said the boy, turning about and showing his tongue.

"All right. Begin to practice now by not talkin’ to me. "

Rob went over the whole situation on his way back, and when he got in sight of the girl his plan was made. She stood waiting for him with a new look on her face. Her sullenness had given way to a peculiar eagerness and anxiety to believe in him. She was already living that free life in a far-off wonderful country. No more would her stern father and sullen mother force her to tasks which she hated. She’d be a member of a new firm. She’d work, of course, but it would be because she wanted to, and not because she was forced to. The independence and the love promised grew more and more attractive. She laughed back with a softer light in her eyes when she saw the smiling face of Rob looking at her from her sun-bonnet

"Now you mustn’t do any more o’ this," he said. "You go back to the house an’ tell y’r mother you’re too lame to plow any more today, and it’s too late, anyhow. Tonight!" he whispered quickiy. " Eleven! Here!"

The girl’s heart leaped with fear. "I’m afraid. "

"Not of me, are yeh?"

"No, I’m not afraid of you, Rob. "

"I’m glad o’ that. I–I want you to–to like me, Julyie; won’t you?"

"I’ll try," she answered with a smile.

"Tonight, then," he said as she moved away.

"Tonight. Goodbye. "

"Goodbye. "

He stood and watched her till her tall figure was lost among the drooping corn leaves. There was a singular choking feeling in his throat. The girl’s voice and face had brought up so many memories of parties and picnics and excursions on far-off holidays, and at the same time such suggestions of the future. He already felt that it was going to be an unconscionably long time before eleven o’clock.

He saw her go to the house, and then he turned and walked slowly up the dusty road. Out of the May weed the grasshoppers sprang, buzzing and snapping their dull red wings. Butterflies, yellow and white, fluttered around moist places in the ditch, and slender striped water snakes glided across the stagnant pools at sound of footsteps.

But the mind of the man was far away on his claim, building a new house, with a woman’s advice and presence.

It was a windless night. The katydids and an occasional cricket were the only sounds Rob could hear as he stood beside his team and strained his ear to listen. At long intervals a little breeze ran through the corn like a swift serpent, bringing to the nostrils the sappy smell of the growing corn. The horses stamped uneasily as the mosquitoes settled on their shining limbs. The sky was full of stars, but there was no moon.

"What if she don’t come?" he thought. "Or can’t come? I can’t stand that. I’ll go to the old man an’ say, ‘Looky here–‘ Sh!"

He listened again. There was a rustling in the corn. It was not like the fitful movement of the wind; it was steady, slower, and approaching. It ceased. He whistled the wailing, sweet cry of the prairie chicken. Then a figure came out into the road–a woman– Julia!

He took her in his arms as she came panting up to him.

"Rob!"

"Julyie!"

A few words, the dull tread of swift horses, the rising of a silent train of dust, and then the wind wandered in the growing corn. The dust fell, a dog barked down the road and the katydids sang to the liquid contralto of the river in its shallows.