"So," regarding the uncovered coiffure which had won John Dunham's approval, "so that is what has become of the wreath of curls. H'm. It makes you look—look very grown up, Sylvia."
"It's about time," returned the girl. "Wasn't I twenty last February?"
They went to the wagon, where the baggage had been placed, and Sylvia put on the rubber coat and jumped in. A sudden peal of thunder rolled.
"A salute in your honor, my dear," said Thinkright, climbing in beside her.
"I'm delighted," she answered, as the horses started, "for it means showers instead of a three days' rain. Here, let's take the calico tent," she added, "then we can both get under it."
She put her little umbrella under the rubber laprobe, and, raising the weather-beaten canopy, slipped her arm through Thinkright's.
"I'm going to paint such a lovely picture of you this summer, dear," she said, studying his face fondly.
"Of me? Oh, no."
"Oh, yes. I won't admit that any one else can paint such a likeness of you as I can."
"I hear good reports of your work."