He told her which Rachel he had in mind, but Joan only shook her head and looked troubled.
“I never read the Bible; we haven’t even got one.”
He told her the story, beginning with Jacob’s setting out, and his coming to the well with the great stone at its mouth which the maidens could not roll away.
“So Jacob rolled the stone away and watered Rachel’s sheep,” he said, pausing with that much of it, looking off down the draw between the hills in a mind-wandering way. Joan touched his arm, impatient with such disjointed narrative.
“What did he do then?”
“Why, he kissed her.”
“I think he was kind of fresh,” said Joan. But she laughed a little, blushing rosily, a bright light in her eyes. “Tell me the rest of it, John.”
Mackenzie went on with the ancient pastoral tale of love. Joan was indignant when she heard how Laban gave Jacob the weak-eyed girl for a wife in place of his beloved Rachel, for whom he had worked the seven years.
“Jake must have been a bright one!” said she. “How could the old man put one over on him like that?”