“Hartspool? How?”
“A party. A swell dance.”
“A party? A—dance?”
Molly echoed the words with a deep breath of ecstasy. Then she shook her head.
“I’ve—I’ve never been to a—party,” she said dejectedly.
Andy nodded and laughed. And his eyes were hotly regarding this child of the hills who was like clay in his hands.
“Will you go to this one? It’s the swell farmers’ dance that they hold when seeding’s through. There’s two weeks yet. I’m going. I guess I wouldn’t miss it for a deal. Say, I haven’t always been a farmer like you. I couldn’t go right on here from year to year without a break. I’d go crazy. You come with me to it. I’ll fix the tickets. It don’t mean a thing but a good time. And for you a fifty-mile drive. Will you do it, Molly? Say, I’d be mighty glad and proud. You’d be the belle of that dance, and I’d be——”
“I don’t know,” Molly demurred. “Lightning would be real mad. He’d——”
“Oh, to hell with Lightning. He’s your hired man. You’ll come?”
“But I haven’t a party gown,” Molly cried, in sudden dismay.