“Do you have to board the threshers?”
“No, not this year; they bring along their own cook, and a tent and everything.”
“Je-rusalem!” exclaimed Lawrence. “Things are changing in these days, ain’t they? Harvesting ain’t as hard on the women-folks as it used to be.”
“No,” said the captain, “but I pay for it, so much extra a bushel.”
His head shook regretfully, but he would have lost his regrets in telling of the time when he had swung a cradle all day in the harvest field, had not Mrs. Carter’s voice just then been heard calling up the stairs:
“Mayme!”
“Whoo!” answered a high, feminine voice.
“Come down. There’s some one here to see you.”
Mrs. Carter turned into the parlor, and the tall windows that opened to the floor of the veranda burst into light.
“She’ll be right down, John,” said Mrs. Carter, appearing in the door. “You give me your hats and go right in.”