She dropped her "g" with careless ease, but then Peter had noticed that many Americans and English people, some very nice ones, did that.
Peter glanced at the girl and then down the road in both directions.
"Oh, yes, of course," he said, not sure whether she was smiling at or with him. "I came from a station called Pickerel River and I wish to go to Black Rock."
"You're sure you want to go there?"
"Oh, yes."
"I guess that's because you've never been to Black Rock, Mister."
"No, I haven't."
The girl picked a shrub and nibbled at it daintily.
"You'd better turn and go right back." Her sentence finished in a shrug.
"What's the matter with Black Rock?" he asked curiously.