“And you want plenty of grit to stand the life,” went on Alvin.
“But it is cheap living, isn’t it?” inquired Pickett.
Alvin laughed. “It is double what it is here,” he said. “Animals, wagons, agricultural implements cost a lot out there. We depend a lot on salt pork, and our guns. Prairie chicken is good eating. It isn’t unlike partridge—and snipe—well, you can get as much snipe as you like.”
The entrance of the women stopped the conversation at this point, and a strapping maid having brought in the tea-pot, they all sat down to tea, and Philip’s name came up.
“You know Mr. Barrimore who lives in our bungalow?” said Mrs. Pickett.
“Of course they do, mother,” put in Minnie. “Why, you’ve seen him go in and out there yourself.”
“I said they knew him, didn’t I?” asked Mrs. Pickett. “You are a bit too sharp, Minnie. Pass the cream to Mrs. Le Breton.”
“He’s a bit stand-offish,” went on Mrs. Pickett. “He often comes up past our farm, but he doesn’t look in. He hasn’t been here since his stable was finished. He talks to Pickett now and again over the gate.”
“Oh, he’s right enough!” interrupted the farmer. “He’s taken up with his young lady. He’ll be getting married one of these days, and then he’ll soon find eyes for other people. Bless you! they’re all the same when they are courting.”
“Is he really engaged?” inquired Alvin.