The great boat-shaped wagons came up from Playcross with the hay. At first the farm-men waggoned it. On the third day one of the land-girls appeared with the first load, drawing to a standstill easily at the head of her two great horses. She was a buxom girl, young, in linen overalls and gaiters. Her face was ruddy, she had large blue eyes.
“Now that’s the waggoner for us, boys,” said the corporal loudly.
“Whoa!” she said to her horses; and then to the corporal: “Which boys do you mean?”
“We are the pick of the bunch. That’s Joe, my pal. Don’t you let on that my name’s Albert,” said the corporal to his private. “I’m the corporal.”
“And I’m Miss Stokes,” said the land-girl coolly, “if that’s all the boys you are.”
“You know you couldn’t want more, Miss Stokes,” said Albert politely. Joe, who was bare-headed, whose grey flannel sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and whose shirt was open at the breast, looked modestly aside as if he had no part in the affair.
“Are you on this job regular, then?” said the corporal to Miss Stokes.
“I don’t know for sure,” she said, pushing a piece of hair under her hat, and attending to her splendid horses.
“Oh, make it a certainty,” said Albert.
She did not reply. She turned and looked over the two men coolly. She was pretty, moderately blonde, with crisp hair, a good skin, and large blue eyes. She was strong, too, and the work went on leisurely and easily.