He regarded us both suspiciously.
“I will promise to be honest,” laughed Miss Janie.
“If it’s more than I’m worth,” he said, “I’ll send him home again. My theory is—”
He stumbled over a pig which, according to the time-table, ought not to have been there. They went off hurriedly together, the pig leading, both screaming.
Miss Janie said she would show me the short cut across the fields; we could talk as we went. We walked in silence for awhile.
“You must not think,” she said, “I like being the one to do all the haggling. I feel a little sore about it very often. But somebody, of course, must do it; and as for father, poor dear—”
I looked at her. Her’s is the beauty to which a touch of sadness adds a charm.
“How old are you?” I asked her.
“Twenty,” she answered, “next birthday.”
“I judged you to be older,” I said.