“I ain’t much on tea drinkin’, as you know, Bill, and I must be hittin’ the back trail soon, ’cause we want to get the taters dug before night.”
“All right, as soon as I put these dishes away I’ll get you the fork.”
Boy’s eyes followed his friend sympathetically, and when Paisley rejoined him he asked hesitatingly:
“Say, Bill, why do you live alone here like you do? Ain’t it lonesome for you?”
“Some.” Paisley dried his hands on a towel and sat down on a stump. “It’s some lonesome; yes. But I’ve sort of got used to it, you see.”
Boy seated himself on a log and leaned back, nursing his knee in his hands.
“How about Mary Ann?” he asked.
Bill shook his head.
“Too good and too young for me, Boy. She don’t just think me her style, I guess. That young teacher chap, now, he is just about Mary Ann’s style.”
Boy’s eyes narrowed.