The morning was not so dull, after all. Mrs. Weston was not used to such frankness, but she was not displeased. "I see you have on your working clothes. If you really think you can repair the car—"
"I got nothin' else to do. The sun is gettin' round to the front. If you would like to sit in the car and watch, I would look her over; there, in the shade."
"I'll get a hat," said Mrs. Weston, rising.
"Your hair is right pretty without a hat. And besides you would be in the shade of the top."
It had been some time since any one had complimented Mrs. Weston about her hair, and especially a man young enough to be her son. What was the cowboy going to say next?
Mrs. Weston stepped into the car, which was parked on the south side of the building. Lorry, whistling blithely, searched until he found a wrench in one of the forward-door pockets. He disappeared beneath the car. Mrs. Weston could hear him tinkering at something. She leaned back, breathing deep of the clean, thin air. She could not recall having felt so thoroughly content and keenly alive at the same time. She had no desire to say or do anything.
Presently Lorry appeared, his face grimy and his hands streaked with oil. "Nothin' busted," he reported cheerfully. "We got a car over to the ranch. She's been busted a-plenty. I fixed her up more times than I can remember. Cars is like horses ma'am; no two just alike, but kind of generally the same. The steering-knuckle ain't broke. It's the left axle that's sprung. That won't take long to straighten."
Mrs. Weston smiled. Lorry thought she was actually pretty. She saw this in his eyes, and flushed slightly.
"And I'll just block her up and take off the wheel, and I reckon the blacksmith can straighten that axle easy."
"It's very nice of you. But I am wondering why you didn't go on the picnic—with the others."