“Why not?” said I. “You picked out the name of my house and the style of the rose trellis.”
“That was different,” she replied.
“I don’t see why.”
“Then you are extremely stupid,” she answered.
“Doubtless,” said I. “But that doesn’t help me any to understand, you know.”
“Come,” she replied, “and see if the paint suits you. Then I must go home and write some letters.”
The paint and calcimine tint suited me, of course. They were a warm, golden cream and a very delicate buff, which made the rooms seem lighter. I thanked her as heartily as I could, and watched her depart up the road, pausing only long enough to press to her nose the first bud on the great lilac tree at the corner.
The place seemed curiously deserted after she had gone. I went out into the vegetable area to see if Mike and Joe were getting on all right, and to watch them planting, that I might learn how it was done.
“Aren’t we pretty late with all these seeds?” I asked.
Mike shook his head. “There’s some things, like peas, ye can’t get in too soon,” he said, “and some like termaters and cauliflowers that ye got to start under glass; but up here in these mountains, with the frosts comin’ and the cold nights, ye don’t know when, ye can wait till the middle o’ May and dump on the manure and get yer crop with the next man.”