How happy they all seem.
But no. Over there in a dark corner sits a tall, powerful, handsome young fellow all alone. He speaks to nobody unless addressed, and then his answers are short and sullen.
Ever and anon he casts a piercing glance at a young man of about his own age who sits at the end of the row opposite, chatting with a pretty young girl. His face darkens. There is murder in his eye. He is in love, perhaps, and jealous.
The bell rings for supper just as the husking is done, and the huskers jump up and scamper pell-mell toward the house, but the tall, handsome young man remains seated and drops his face in his hands with something that sounds like a sob.
For a long time he sits thus alone, then a light, hurried step is heard and a sweet-voiced girl asks:
“Joe, what’s the matter? Had trouble with Mary? You haven’t spoken to her to-night, hardly. Sick? Better come into supper. It will do you good, maybe.”
“No, Sis, it ain’t that.”
“Tell me, Joe,” says his sister kindly.
“Well,” he answers, “I’ve got on my thin pants ... I rid Dobbin over ... thar wuz a nail or a chafe in th’ saddle....”
And the stalwart young hayseed Adonis broke down and shed a drenching shower of salt and bitter tears.