“We make out well enough,” she asserted with a snap in her eyes.
Hawtrey made an expressive gesture. “Oh, yes,” he admitted, “it’s in you. All you want in order to beat the wilderness and turn it into a garden is an ax, a span of oxen, and a breaker plow. You ought to be proud of your energy. Still, you see, our folks back yonder aren’t quite the same as you.”
Sally partly understood him. “Ah,” she replied, “they want more, and, perhaps, they’re used to having more than we have; but isn’t that in one way their misfortune? Is it what folks want, or what they can do, that makes them of use to anybody else?”
There was a hard truth in her suggestion, but Hawtrey, who seldom occupied himself with matters of that kind, smiled.
“Oh,” he said, “I don’t know; but, after all, it wouldn’t be worth while for us to raise wheat here unless there were folks back East to eat it, and, if some of them only eat in the shape of dainty cakes, that doesn’t affect the question. Anyway, there will be but another dance or two, and I was wondering whether I could drive you home; I’ve got Wyllard’s Ontario sleigh.”
Sally glanced at him rather sharply. She had half-expected this offer, and it is possible would have judiciously led him up to it if he had not made it. Now, as she saw that he really wished to drive her home, she was glad that she had not deliberately encouraged the invitation.
“Yes,” she answered softly, “I think you could.”
“Then,” said Hawtrey, “if you’ll wait ten minutes I’ll be back with the team.”