"I don't think so," Samson answered, a little surprised at her knowledge of the attachment. "He's as humly as Sam Hill and dresses rough and ain't real handy with the gals. Some fellers are kind o' fenced in with humliness and awkwardness."
Brimstead expressed his private opinion in a clearly audible whisper: "Say, that kind o' protection is better'n none. A humly boy don't git tramped on an' nibbled too much."
Annabel and Harry sat in a corner playing checkers. They seemed to be much impressed by the opinion of Mr. Brimstead. For a moment their game was forgotten.
"That boy has a way with the gals," Samson laughed. "There's no such fence around either of them."
"They're both liable to be nibbled some," said Brimstead.
"I like to see 'em have a good time," said his wife. "There are not many boys to play with out here."
"The boys around here are all fenced in," said Annabel. "There's nobody here of my age but Lanky Peters, who looks like a fish, and a red-headed Irish boy with a wooden leg."
"Say, she's like a woodpecker in a country where there ain't any trees," said Brimstead, in his confidential tone.
"No I'm not," the girl answered. "A woodpecker has wings and the right to use them."
"Cheer up. A lot of people will be moving in here this spring—more boys than you could shake a stick at," Mrs. Brimstead remarked, cheerfully.