"Why don't you have the men stretch you a canvas?" asked Bob.
"Well," said the girl, stopping short, "I have considered it. I no more than you like unexpected twigs in my dough. But you see I do like shadows and sunlight and upper air and breezes in my food. And you can't have one without the other. Did you get all the weeds out?"
"Yes," said Bob. "Look here; you ought not to have to do such work as that."
"Do you think it will wear down my fragile strength?" she asked, looking at him good-humouredly. "Is it too much exercise for me?"
"No—" hesitated Bob, "but—"
"Why, bless you, I like to help the babies to grow big and green," said she. "One can't have the theatre or bridge up here; do leave us some of the simple pleasures."
"Why did you want me to finish for you then?" demanded Bob shrewdly.
She laughed.
"Young man," said she, "I could give you at least ten reasons," with which enigmatic remark she whipped her apron around her hand and whisked open the oven door, where were displayed rows of beautifully browned biscuits.
"Nevertheless----" began Bob.