“How do you do it?” Without waiting for a reply he proceeded. George said nothing, but turned to Lettie.
“You are picturesque,” she said, a trifle awkwardly, “Quite fit for an Idyll.”
“And you?” he said.
She shrugged her shoulders, laughed, and turned to pick up a scarlet pimpernel.
“How do you bind the corn?” she asked.
He took some long straws, cleaned them, and showed her the way to hold them. Instead of attending, she looked at his hands, big, hard, inflamed by the snaith of the scythe.
“I don’t think I could do it,” she said.
“No,” he replied quietly, and watched Leslie mowing. The latter who was wonderfully ready at everything, was doing fairly well, but he had not the invincible sweep of the other, nor did he make the same crisp crunching music.
“I bet he’ll sweat,” said George.
“Don’t you?” she replied.