"Gone to town."
"Wish I'd known he was going; I'd had him bring out some twine for me. I think the oats will be ready to cut over on the other place right away, and I don't want to miss any time."
"No, indeed. A hail storm might come up." He glanced at her quickly. She was gazing across the field to where her halfwitted brothers worked, while he was thinking how thoughtful she was. Presently he heard her again.
"Why, if it is urgent—you are out, I—I could go to town and get the twine for you." She was looking at him now and he was confused. Her offer was so like her, so natural. Why was it that they understood each other so well?
"Oh, why, Agnes," he stammered, "that would be asking too much of you!"
"Why so? I shall be glad—glad to oblige you in any way. And it is not too much if one takes into consideration what you have done for—I'll be glad to go...."
"Done for what?" he said, catching up where she had broken off, and eyeing her inquiringly.
She was confused and the same showed in her face. She blushed. She had not meant to say what she did. But he was regarding her curiously. He hadn't thought about the note. She turned then and regarded him out of tender eyes. She played with the bonnet she held in her lap. She looked away and then back up into his face, and her eyes were more tender still. In her expression there was almost an appeal.
"What did you mean by what you started to say, Agnes," he repeated, evenly, but kindly.
"I—I—mean what you did for papa. What—you—you did about that—that—note." It was out at last and she lowered her eyes and struggled to hold back the tears with great effort.