I wonder.—I—I almost wish it were so!
With bent head he goes out. Rhoda stands looking after him until the inner door closes, then sits before the fire in revery. Beeler comes in from the barn. He wears his old fur cap, and holds in one hand a bulky Sunday newspaper, in the other some battered harness, an awl, twine, and wax, which he deposits on the window seat. He lays the paper on the table, and unfolds from it a large colored print, which he holds up and looks at with relish.
Beeler.
These Sunday papers do get up fine supplements. I wouldn't take money for that picture.
Rhoda.
Looks at it absently.
What does it mean?
Beeler.
Reads.
"Pan and the Pilgrim." Guess you never heard of Pan, did you?