"Wal, she ain't far away but we can look out for her. She ain't poor n'r fatherless as long as we live, hey?"
And then silence fell on them. As they were jogging homeward they saw the gray gulls rise from the sod and go home to the lake for the night. They heard the crickets' evening chorus broaden and deepen to an endless and monotonous symphony, while behind fantastic, thin, and rainless clouds the sun sank in unspeakable glory of colour. The air, perfectly still, was cool almost to frostiness, and, far above, the fair stars broke from the lilac and gold of the sun-flushed sky. Lights in the farm-houses began to appear.
Once or twice Anson said: "She's about at Summit now. I hope she's chirked up."
They met threshing-crews going noisily home to supper. Once they met an "outfit," engine, tank, separator, all moving along like a train of cars, while every few minutes the red light from the furnace gleamed on the man who was stuffing the straw into the furnace-door, bringing out his face so plainly that they knew him. As the night grew deeper, an occasional owl flapped across the fields in search of mice.
"We're bound to miss her like thunder, Bert; no two ways about that. Can't help but miss her on the cookin', hey?"
Bert nodded without looking up. As they came in sight of home at last, and saw the house silhouetted against the faintly yellow sky, Ans said with a sigh:
"No light an' no singin' there to-night."
[CHAPTER IX.]
"BACHING" IT AGAIN.