“I’m so thankful to have a ride home,” sighed Lucy, after waiting a second or two and finding he had no intention of speaking. “It is very hot to-day.”
“So ’tis. But it is great weather for corn.” 183
“I suppose so,” assented the girl. “How is yours coming on?”
“Pretty well. Some blasted crow got a little of it at the beginnin’; but the rest of it is all right.”
“It was a shame you lost any of it.”
“I was a good deal put out myself. Still, ’twarn’t much, considerin’ the size of the field.”
Lucy dimpled.
“Your field is a wonderful sight from our house,” she answered, “especially when the wind blows. You have a fine lot of oats, too. I love to watch the breeze sweep across it.”
“I do myself,” agreed Martin with increasing cordiality. “It’s a pretty picture. There’s lots of pretty pictures on a farm if you’re lookin’ for ’em,” he added, stealing a glance at her.
“Your sweet peas were a pretty picture,” ventured Lucy mischievously.