Lou looked skeptical. “Let’s see, how long have you been away from here?”
“Sixteen years. You ought to remember that, Lou, for you were married just after we went away.”
“Going to stay with us some time?” Oscar asked.
“A few days, if Alexandra can keep me.”
“I expect you’ll be wanting to see your old place,” Lou observed more cordially. “You won’t hardly know it. But there’s a few chunks of your old sod house left. Alexandra wouldn’t never let Frank Shabata plough over it.”
Annie Lee, who, ever since the visitor was announced, had been touching up her hair and settling her lace and wishing she had worn another dress, now emerged with her three daughters and introduced them. She was greatly impressed by Carl’s urban appearance, and in her excitement talked very loud and threw her head about. “And you ain’t married yet? At your age, now! Think of that! You’ll have to wait for Milly. Yes, we’ve got a boy, too. The youngest. He’s at home with his grandma. You must come over to see mother and hear Milly play. She’s the musician of the family. She does pyrography, too. That’s burnt wood, you know. You wouldn’t believe what she can do with her poker. Yes, she goes to school in town, and she is the youngest in her class by two years.”
Milly looked uncomfortable and Carl took her hand again. He liked her creamy skin and happy, innocent eyes, and he could see that her mother’s way of talking distressed her. “I’m sure she’s a clever little girl,” he murmured, looking at her thoughtfully. “Let me see—Ah, it’s your mother that she looks like, Alexandra. Mrs. Bergson must have looked just like this when she was a little girl. Does Milly run about over the country as you and Alexandra used to, Annie?”
Milly’s mother protested. “Oh, my, no! Things has changed since we was girls. Milly has it very different. We are going to rent the place and move into town as soon as the girls are old enough to go out into company. A good many are doing that here now. Lou is going into business.”
Lou grinned. “That’s what she says. You better go get your things on. Ivar’s hitching up,” he added, turning to Annie.
Young farmers seldom address their wives by name. It is always “you,” or “she.”