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"Phew! it’s hot!" was the greeting the young fellow gave as he came up. He smiled in a frank, boyish way as he hung his hat on the top of a stake and looked up at her. "D’ y’ know, I kind o’ enjoy getting at it again. Fact. It ain’t no work for a girl, though," he added.

"When ‘d you get back?" she asked, the flush not yet out of her face. Rob was looking at her thick, fine hair and full Scandinavian face, rich as a rose in color, and did not reply for a few seconds. She stood with her hideous sun bonnet pushed back on her shoulders. A kingbird was chattering overhead.

"Oh’ a few days ago. "

"How long y’ goin’ t’ stay?"

"Oh, I d’ know. A week, mebbe. "

A far-off halloo came pulsing across the shimmering air. The boy screamed "Dinner!" and waved his hat with an answering whoop, then flopped off the horse like a turtle off a stone into water. He had the horse unhooked in an instant, and had flung his toes up over the horse’s back, in act to climb on, when Rob said:

"H’yare, young feller! wa!t a minute. Tired?" he asked the girl with a tone that was more than kindly; it was almost tender.

"Yes," she replied in a low voice. "My shoes hurt me. "

"Well, here y’ go," he replied, taking his stand by the horse and holding out his hand like a step. She colored and smiled a little as she lifted her foot into his huge, hard, sunburned hand.

"Oop-a-daisy!" he called. She gave a spring and sat the horse like one at home there.

Rob had a deliciously unconscious, abstracted, businesslike air. He really left her nothing to do but enjoy his company, while he went ahead and did precisely as he pleased.

"We don’t raise much corn out there, an’ so I kind o’ like to see it once more. "

"I wish I didn’t have to see another hill of corn as long as I live!" replied the girl bitterly.

"Don’t know as I blame yeh a bit. But, all the same, I’m glad you was working in it today," he thought to hiniseif as he walked beside her horse toward the house.

"Will you stop to dinner?" she inquired bluntly, almost surmy. It was evident that there were reasons why she didn’t mean to press. hirn to’. do so.

"You bet I will," he replied; "that is, if you want I should. "

"You know how we live," she replied evasively. "I’ you c’n stand it, why–" She broke off abruptly.

Yes, he remembered how they lived in that big, square, dirty, white frame house. It had been three or four years since he had been in it, but the smell of the cabbage and onions, the penetrating, peculiar mixture of odors, assailed his memory as something unforgettable.

"I guess I’ll stop," he said as she hesitated. She said no more, but tried to act as if she were not in any way responsible for what came afterward.

"I guess I c’n stand fr one meal what you stand all the while," he added.

As she left them at the well and went to the house, he saw her limp painfully, and the memory of her face so close to his lips as he helped her down from the horse gave him pleasure, at the same time that he was touched by its tired and gloomy look. Mrs. Peterson came to the door of the kitchen, looking just the same as ever. Broadfaced, unwieldly, flabby, apparently wearing the same dress he remembered to have seen her in years before–a dirty drab-colored thing–she looked as shapeless as a sack of wool. Her English was limited to "How de do, Rob?"