Meanwhile Phil and Eliza were retracing their steps across the field.
"There! that didn't hurt much, did it?" he asked.
"I haven't got much use for her," replied Eliza, "but I do believe Kathleen Fabian's a sensible girl."
"Our friend Edgar is coming to-morrow," remarked Phil.
Eliza looked up at him shrewdly from beneath the shade hat. "Is that the reason you want to be a cave man?"
Phil laughed. "Perhaps it's one," he admitted. "He's a rather—well—pervasive person, we'll say. I need elbow room to work. Isn't this a great place, Eliza?" The speaker's eyes swept the surroundings. "You're farther from the sea than the Fabians. You have a grand orchard, I see," added Phil, laughing; "or does it belong to that little cottage over there?"
"Where? Oh, you mean the chicken-house?"
"Chicken-house! Are the hens here so high-toned they have to have windows besides their roosts? There are places out West where the reason for the cows giving little milk is said to be because they become so enchanted with the scenery that they forget to eat. I suppose those hens go up to the second floor to watch the sunset."
Phil looked curiously at the little story and a half building guarded by the balm-of-Gilead trees.