"Speak for yourself, Ratio. I'm going to the kitchen to make some taffy. There's just enough time for it to cool. We'll take it along and give it to all the youngsters."
"Well, ma, there's a nice breeze blowing, the sun's going down. What do you say to a short spin?"
"Yes, father."
"Well, get ready. I'll have the buckboard here in five minutes." He rose, shaking off the blossoms which powdered his coat like snow.
"There's some on your hair, ma; they're so pretty."
Indiana rose lazily from the grass, also shaking off a shower of blossoms, and leaned against a low-spreading apple tree, extending her arms on the branches each side of her.
Glen gazed at her, still thrumming his mandolin.
"Do you think you'll come to Narragansett with us, this summer?" said Indiana, looking idly up through the branches.
"What for?" said Glen, gloomily. "To see you dance and flirt with a lot of—of simpering idiots."
Indiana laughed. Every time she moved, the blossoms fell upon her shoulders, neck and hair.