"Oh, wöan't I!" and Reuben showed his strong white teeth.
"How many trees are there?"
"Half a dozen—willers. The real trouble will be gitting their roots out."
"And will you do that alone?"
"I'll see about it."
Naomi looked across at Reuben without speaking. Her lips, a pale coral-pink, were parted, showing two tiny teeth. She was not the type he favoured—she was too soft and bloodless—but he could not help feeling flattered by the frank admiration he saw in her eyes. He knew that this last year of wind and sun and healthy work had narrowed the gulf between him and Beautiful Harry. He was as hard as iron and as brown as a nut, and there was a warm red glowing through the swarthiness of his cheeks like the bloom on a russet pear.
Harry looked up from his plate, and the gaze became three-cornered. Reuben, defiant of his brother, grew bold, and ogled, whereupon Naomi grew timid, and dropped her eyes; Harry found himself speaking with a rasp:
"I'm coming to help you, Reuben. You'll never tackle them rootses—it äun't everything you can do surelye!"
"I can do that much. You stay here and play the fiddle to Naomi."