Barbara explained.
For an hour or more they had driven and there was no end to the fields of tobacco and grain.
“Are we still on your land?”
Barbara laughed. “Yes, we can’t drive around the plantation and get back for dinner. I think we’d better turn now.”
“Plan-ta-tion,” said the lad. “What’s that?”
“Why, all this—the land—the farm.”
“Oh!”
“It’s called Red Oaks—from those big trees back of the house.”
“Oh. I know oaks—all of ’em.”