“John took a snapshot of the cow that wintered with us,” she said. “I guess he’d give you one.”
The man laughed. “I’d like it,” he told her; “but I want to get a great many.” He hesitated. “Where is your farm?”
She pointed out of the swamp toward the hill.
“Near?” he asked.
And she said, “It’s right over the swamp.”
“Listen,” he said eagerly. “My name’s Darrin—Fred Darrin. What’s yours?”
“Ruth MacLure.”
“Why you’re Evered’s sister-in-law, aren’t you?”
She nodded, her cheeks paling a little. “Yes.”
“I was coming to see Evered to-night,” he said. “I want to board at the farm while I work on these pictures—that is, I want permission to camp down here by the swamp somewhere, and get milk and eggs and things from you. Do you think I can?”