"Abominable foolishness!" roared father like he does roar once in about two years.
"Isn't it now?" asked Laddie sweetly. "I don't know what has got into her head. She has seen me plowing fifty times since their land has joined ours, and she never objected before."
"I can tell you blessed well!" said mother. "She didn't care two hoots how much my son plowed, but it makes a difference when it comes to her lover."
"Maw, you speak amazing reckless," said Laddie, "if I thought there was anything in THAT feature of the case, I'd attempt a Highland fling on the ridgepole of our barn."
"Be serious!" said father sternly. "This is no laughing matter."
"That's precisely why I am laughing," said Laddie. "Would it help me any to sit down and weep? I trow not! I have thought most of the silent watches—by the way they are far from silent in May—and as I read my title clear, it's my job to plow the west eighty immejit."
Father tried to look stern, but he just had to laugh.
"All right then, plow it!" he said.
"What did she say?" asked mother.
"Phew!" Laddie threw up both hands. "She must have been bottled some time on the subject. The ferment was a spill of considerable magnitude. The flood rather overwhelmed me, because it was so unexpected. I had been taking for granted that she accepted my circumstances and surroundings as she did me. But no, kind friends, far otherwise! She said last night, in the clearest English I ever heard spoken impromptu, that I was a man suitable for her friend, but I would have to change my occupation before I could be received on more than a friendly footing."