“Now, Billy, remember we're not going to take up with the first piece of land we see. We've got to go into this with our eyes open—”
“An' they ain't open yet,” he agreed.
“And we've got to get them open. ''Tis them that looks that finds.' There's lots of time to learn things. We don't care if it takes months and months. We're footloose. A good start is better than a dozen bad ones. We've got to talk and find out. We'll talk with everybody we meet. Ask questions. Ask everybody. It's the only way to find out.”
“I ain't much of a hand at askin' questions,” Billy demurred.
“Then I'll ask,” she cried. “We've got to win out at this game, and the way is to know. Look at all these Portuguese. Where are all the Americans? They owned the land first, after the Mexicans. What made the Americans clear out? How do the Portuguese make it go? Don't you see? We've got to ask millions of questions.”
She strummed a few chords, and then her clear sweet voice rang out gaily:
“I's g'wine back to Dixie, I's g'wine back to Dixie, I's g'wine where de orange blossoms grow, For I hear de chillun callin', I see de sad tears fallin'—My heart's turned back to Dixie, An' I mus'go.”
She broke off to exclaim: “Oh! What a lovely place! See that arbor—just covered with grapes!”
Again and again she was attracted by the small places they passed. Now it was: “Look at the flowers!” or: “My! those vegetables!” or: “See! They've got a cow!”
Men—Americans—driving along in buggies or runabouts looked at Saxon and Billy curiously. This Saxon could brook far easier than could Billy, who would mutter and grumble deep in his throat.