"I can never tell you," he replied gravely—"not even when you are an ancient dame and I rheumatic."
She was merry again.
"Then I fear it's wicked," she said, "and I'm amazed at you. But my day-dreams are all common ones. I ask only the country and my home and horses and cows and chickens—and a rheumatic friend. You see I must be happy, I ask so little."
"And you argue that he who demands little gets it," he returned lightly. "On the other hand, I should say that he who is content with less gets nothing. I ask the biggest thing Fate has to give, and then stand waiting for—"
He paused for a breathless instant while he looked at her, and then slowly finished:
"For the skies to fall."
They swung open the gate into cattle lane, and stood waiting while the cows trooped by to the barnyard.
Eugenia called them by name, and they turned great stupid eyes upon her as they stopped to munch the hollyhocks.
"She was named after you," said the girl suddenly.
"She? Who?" he turned a helpless look upon the two small negroes who drove the cows.