He twisted the twig in his fingers and smiled down at her, conscious of a singular and personal kindness between them, aware too, for the first time, that she was young, beautiful, and a woman; before, she had been merely an individual to him.
“My mother used to say that to me when I would break fruit blows,” he said meditatively. “But father always pruned his trees when they were in blossom—they can’t any of them bear a peach for every bloom.”
She shook her head as though giving up the argument, since it was after all a matter of sentiment. Her dark, rich-coloured beauty glowed its contrast to his cool, northern type.
At present neither spoke more than a few syllables of the spiritual language of the other, yet so powerful was the attraction between them that even Creed began to feel it, while Judith, the primitive woman, all given over to instinct, promptly laid about her for something to hold and interest him.
“The young folks is a-goin’ to get up a play-party at our house sometime soon,” she hazarded. “I reckon you wouldn’t come to any such as that, would you?”
“I’d be proud to come,” returned Creed at once. But he spoiled it by adding, “I’ve got to get acquainted with people all over again, it’s so long since I lived here; and looks like I’m not a very good mixer.”
“Will you sure come?” inquired Judith insistently, as she saw him preparing to depart.
“I sure will.”
“You could stay over night in your own house then—ain’t you comin’ back, ever, to live there?”
“Why, yes, I reckon I might stay there over night, but it’s too far from the main road for a justice’s office.”