The horses were taking the hill, straining and moving their ears, and reaching the top, bounded forward in a whirl of dust. Still sitting rigid, the driver clucked, snapping his whip, and began talking in a dry deep bass.
“It’s some time since we have seen you, Mrs. Anspacher.”
Julie raised her thin long face from her collar and nodded.
“Yes,” she answered in a short voice, and frowned.
“Your husband has gathered in the corn already, and the orchards are hanging heavy.”
“Are they?” she said, and tried to remember how many trees there were of apple and of pear.
The driver took in another foot of reins, and turning slightly around, so that he could look at her, said:
“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Anspacher.”
She began to laugh. “Is it?” then with deliberation checked herself, and fixed her angry eyes straight ahead of her.
The child, loose-limbed with excessive youth, who sat at her side, lifted a small sharp face on which an aquiline nose perched with comic boldness. She half held, half dropped an old-fashioned ermine muff, the tails of which stuck out in all directions. She looked unhappy and expectant.