"Welcome to The Craggs, lassie. The lad, Ned, has been telling me much about you. Will you not sit down?"
He placed a rustic chair before her.
"I have been waiting for you to call on your new neighbour," said Mary with a smile as she accepted the proffered chair. "But you have not favoured us yet. I am afraid you will find me a very impatient and exacting neighbour, Mr. Pullar."
His eyes twinkled at her speech.
"Well now, that is a pretty rub," said he amusedly. "I shall have to hunt up my visiting cards and call around."
"Now, see that you do," was the girl's reply as she shook an accusing finger at him. "But you must not entertain now, Mr. Pullar. I came over to watch you at work. I am curious to know why you were belabouring that poor sack so roundly."
The old man laughed delightedly.
"I will tell you all about it," was the reply. "I am threshing the wheat that is in it."
"But why do you have to do that with a stick? Is Ned not the best thresher along the Valley?"
A proud look came into the old man's eyes.