Billy was in his shirtsleeves. His blond hair was cropped unbecomingly close. Lydia did not see that the head this disclosed was more finely shaped than either of her friends. He was grinning as he came toward Lydia, showing his white teeth.
"Hello, Lyd! Awful glad you're back!"
He sat down on the step below her and Lydia wrinkled her nose. He carried with him the odor of hay and horses.
"How's your mother?" asked Lydia. "I'm coming over, to-morrow."
"Mother's not so very well. She works too hard at the blamed canning.
I told her I'd rather never eat it than have her get so done up."
"I'll be over to help her," said Lydia. "We had a perfectly heavenly time in camp, Billy."
"Did you?" asked her caller, indifferently. "Hay is fine this year.
Never knew such a stand of clover."
"Miss Towne was grand to us. And Kent and Charlie are the best cooks, ever."
"Great accomplishment for men," muttered Billy. "Are you going to try to sell fudge, this winter, Lyd?"
"I don't know," Lydia's tone was mournful, "Daddy hates to have me. Now I'm growing up he seems to be getting sensitive about my earning money."