While Harding was struggling with the pump, Beatrice came along the trail through the bluff. Her companion, Banff, one of Lance's many dogs, had trailed off through the bushes, his nose to the ground, and she was, for the moment, alone. When she caught sight of Harding she stopped irresolutely. She felt that it might be wiser to pass on without disturbing him; yet something compelled her to wait.
She stood watching him. He attracted her—that much she admitted; but she persuaded herself that it was only because he was interesting to talk to and, unlike the other men she knew, he said things that made one think.
Harding was so deep in his machinery problem that he did not see her. He was once more fitting the different parts together, when Banff came bounding out of the bushes with a glad bark and the little gray rabbit scuttled off through the briars.
Harding turned quickly; and Beatrice saw his eyes light up.
"I'm glad you've come," he said, emptying a box of tools and turning it upside down. "That isn't a bad seat—and the sun's pleasant here."
Beatrice noticed that he took it for granted that she would remain; but, after all, he had some reason for this, for they seldom passed without stopping to speak when they met.
"Has the machine gone wrong?" she asked, sitting down where the sunlight fell upon her.
"Yes, pretty badly. I can't find out what's the matter. I suppose you think it's a just punishment for bringing such things to Allenwood?"
She laughed.
"Well, you gave our friends some offense when you brought your plow over and broke Kenwyne's land."