"You b'long in Foxtaown, I s'pose?"
"No. I'm from the city."
"All the way from the city? Well, I declare. I thot I knew all the Elmwood leddies. I s'pose things are putty brisk in taown these days?"
"Oh, yes. We always have plenty of excitement. Too much, I fear. Some of us miss the quiet you enjoy out here among the meadows."
The rustic meditated upon this a moment, chewing a straw.
"Speakin' of medders, haow's hay sellin'?"
"I don't know, really," answered Emily. She was not informed on this utilitarian side of the subject.
"Just been shavin' my ten-acre lot daown the road. Did most o' the mowin' ourselves, me and Ike, that's my brother, with the Loomis boy. But he ain't good for much except forkin' it on. You wouldn't s'pose there was a clean ton o' hay on this wagon, would you?"
"No, indeed," answered Emily. This was true. She would not have ventured any supposition at all as to the weight of the hay.
"Good medder-grass, too."