"Do you think so, lass?"
"Indeed I do. And so does the whole settlement."
"It is so, I believe," was the frank agreement. "But Ned does not thresh this. Those bags are filled with rare wheat heads selected from our head-row plots. For them I use the flail."
He had pointed to where a line of a dozen bulging grain sacks swung on a stout rope between posts.
Mary's eyes opened.
"Mr. Pullar," said she engagingly, "I have heard most interesting rumours of what a wizard you are with seeds. One man told me solemnly that he believed you could grow a good crop in a field of dry dust. Is it true that you have developed a new variety of wheat?"
For a moment the old man did not answer. Instead he read earnestly the beautiful, vivacious face of the girl and the eyes deep in their intelligence.
"I believe, lassie, you would understand," was his satisfied reflection. "Would you like to hear the truth about The Red Knight?"
Mary looked steadily into the eyes above her. She did not comprehend the meaning of his question but she was fascinated by the noble enthusiasm that swept over the fine old face.
"Tell me. Will you?" was her soft voiced reply.