Loren took a chair and sunk into it with a sigh of comfort. "You're right I am. I tell you it's hard work to walk a mile and a half with a suit-case. And all the time you were just sitting comfortably out here on the veranda listening to the katydids." He drew out his pipe and lit it. "Well, how are all the folks? Same as usual?"
"I guess so. Father's failing a little, and mother worries a good deal, but keeps pretty well."
"That's good. They must be mighty glad to have one of us at home to look after things. Lord, but I've often imagined you outdoors driving around in the open air and enjoying life when I've been plugging up for some beastly exam. But, apropos of the health bulletin, etc., is Janet Manning here still, or has she gone off to college?"
"No, she's teaching school at the Corners. I saw her a minute to-night, and she invited us up to supper there on Sunday."
"Good! That's something like. Shall be much charmed to see the little schoolma'am again. She's a slick little girl—at least she used to be. In my opinion she's wasting her time up here in the woods. Why, that girl's got ability, and I call it a shame for her to bury herself in the country just for her mother's account. But say, isn't that a wagon coming?"
The two went down to the gate and stood there waiting for the buggy to draw up. When Mr. and Mrs. Waring were out, David took the horse to the barn and unharnessed in the dark. Then he reentered the house, and without saying anything more than "Good-night," went up to his room.
II
It was late in the afternoon of an August day. From the high gable windows of the barn the yellow sunlight shot through the dusty air in a long, straight shaft and rested on the lower part of the haymow, gilding every dry wisp with a temporary and fatuous splendor. Elsewhere in the barn it was already half dark. On one side the hay rose up in a tremendous heap almost to the roof, where it vanished dimly in the dusky shadows. Opposite were the cow-stables, five of them in a row, each occupant munching her cud contentedly and now and then giving vent to a soft, self-satisfied low. From one of the stalls could be heard the rhythmical squirt of milk against the milking-pail, for David was engaged upon his evening work. On a rickety chair near the hay-loft sat Janet, holding a timid little barn cat in her lap and stroking it nervously. She was speaking in a voice that betrayed considerable agitation.
"Well, I'm just going to leave it with you to decide, for I'm not ready to do it myself. But it does seem to me that it's the chance of a lifetime. It's just a question of whether I shall always stay on here teaching district school, or see a little of the world and have a chance to go on studying."
She stopped, and a moment of strained silence ensued, broken only by the sound of the milking. David pressed his head against the flank of the cow and choked back something in his throat. Then he managed to speak.