“Oh yes! Do!” he begged, and she sat down across the table from him. “I'm ashamed to make this trouble for you,” he added. “I didn't know it was so late.”
“Oh, we have the whole day for our work,” she answered, tolerantly.
He laughed, and said: “How strange that seems! I suppose I shall get used to it. But in town we seem never to have a whole day for a day's work; we always have to do part of it at night, or the next morning. Do you ever have a day here that's too large a size for its work?”
“You can nearly always find something to do about a house,” she returned, evasively. “But the time doesn't go the way it does in the summer.”
“Oh, I know how the country is in the winter,” he said. “I was brought up in the country.”
“I didn't know that,” she said, and she gave him a stare of surprise before her eyes fell.
“Yes. Out in Wisconsin. My people were emigrants, and I lived in the woods, there, till I began to paint my way out. I began pretty early, but I was in the woods till I was sixteen.”
“I didn't know that,” she repeated. “I always thought that you were—”
“Summer folks, like the rest? No, I'm all-the-year-round folks originally. But I haven't been in the country in the winter since I was a boy; and it's all been coming back to me, here, like some one else's experience.”
She did not say anything, but the interest in her eyes, which she could not keep from his face now, prompted him to go on.