“And this,” said he. “That valley was once nothing but a pine forest—and so was all the southern part of the State, the peach belt and the farms. And for that matter Indiana, too, and all the other forest States right out to the prairies. Where would we be now, if we HADN'T done that?” he pointed across at the stump-covered hills.
Mischief had driven out the gravity from the girl's eyes. She had lowered her head slightly sidewise as though to conceal their expression from him.
“I was beginning to be afraid you'd say 'yes-indeed,'” said she.
Orde looked bewildered, then remembered the Incubus, and laughed.
“I haven't been very conversational,” he acknowledged.
“Certainly NOT!” she said severely. “That would have been very disappointing. There has been nothing to say.” She turned and waved her hat at the beech woods falling sombre against the lowering sun.
“Good-bye,” she said gravely, “and pleasant dreams to you. I hope those very saucy little birds won't keep you awake.” She looked up at Orde. “He was rather nice to us this afternoon,” she explained, “and it's always well to be polite to them anyway.” She gazed steadily at Orde for signs of amusement. He resolutely held his face sympathetic.
“Now I think we'll go home,” said she.
They made their way between the stumps to the edge of the sand-hill overlooking the village. With one accord they stopped. The low-slanting sun cast across the vista a sleepy light of evening.
“How would you like to live in a place like that all your life?” asked Orde.