“Don’t chatter so much, and look out where you are going,” said Ben, pretending not to notice Jesse’s chaff.
Holles laughed, and drove on silently for a few minutes. Then he said:
“That’s a bad piece of luck about Bob Strafford’s reservoir. Poor fellow! He will take it dreadfully to heart. And I am sorry for her too. It must be lonely for her in this part of the country.”
Ben made no answer.
“I can’t for the life of me understand about women,” Holles continued. “If I were a fine girl like that, nothing on earth would induce me to come out to this kind of existence. Any one can see that she is out of place here.”
“The women have a bad time of it in a new country,” Ben said slowly. “If you talk to any one of them, it is nearly always the same story, home-sickness and desolation, desolation and home-sickness. I remember last year up north meeting such a handsome woman. Her husband had made quite a good thing out of Lima beans, and they had everything they wanted. But she told me that she did not know how to live through the first ten years of home-sickness.”
“That’s a cheerful prospect for Mrs. Strafford,” said Holles.
“She will probably work her way through, as they all do,” answered Ben. “Women are wonderful creatures.”
“You always have something to say for women,” said Holles. “You ought to go back to the old country, and help them get the suffrage and all that sort of thing. You are lost to them out here. How my maiden aunt, who only lives for the Cause, as she calls it, would adore you!”
Ben smiled, and then said quietly: