David Waring was not consciously aware of anything in the world, but his whole body was alive to the anticipation of the near end of his day’s work.  A few minutes more and he should have set the milk into the coolers, thrown off his overalls, and washed himself in cold spring water—­and then he could drop into a chair on the quiet porch and take his ease.

Quite unexpectedly just ahead of him a young woman stepped out from the shadow of a tree and sprang lightly into the road.  “Hello, David!” she said, waiting for him to come up to her.  “You look as tired as a plough-horse.  What’s the matter?”

“Well, I am, Janet.  It doesn’t hardly seem as if I could push one foot ahead of another.  Here I’ve been working all day long, and only just done at eight or nine o’clock.”

“Poor boy,” answered the girl.  “Come and sit down a few minutes while I talk to you.  I didn’t go round to the house because I knew your father and mother would be off at meeting.”

David needed no urging.  He placed the pails of milk by the roadside and together the two sat down by the stone wall.

“I’d let you put your arm around me if you didn’t smell so cowy,” said Janet with a little laugh.

“That’s not my fault,” he answered.  “Somebody’s got to milk the poor old beasts, and I don’t know who would if I didn’t.  That doesn’t make me like it, though.  Oh Janet, when I feel as tired as I do to-night I get terribly sickened with all this humdrum life on the farm!  It’s just work, work, from morning till night and when you get done you’re too tired to read or talk or do anything but just go to sleep like a big ox.  If it weren’t for father’s and mother’s sakes I believe I’d quit the old place in a minute.  If I could only go off somewhere—­anywhere, only to be out of sight of the farm!”

“Well, I like that, Mr. Waring,” said the girl, with a look half indignant, half smiling.  “Is that the only thing that keeps you here?  I guess perhaps it’s time for me to go home now.”

“Oh, Janet, don’t take it that way!  You know what I mean.  I’m just sick and tired of the whole business, and I wish to goodness I could throw it over.  By the way, I suppose you know my brother’s coming home from Yale to-morrow.  It’s almost two years since I’ve seen him except for a week or two.  I guess he’ll have changed some; his letters sound so, anyway.”

“That’s just what I came down to ask you about.  I heard it yesterday and I’d be awfully glad if you two would come up to supper day after to-morrow—­that’s Sunday.  I’m so anxious to see him because I know he’ll have lots to tell us about college and the city and things like that.  Oh, David, I get tired too of always staying here in the country and teaching school forever, when there are so many things to learn and so much to see off there in the world.  That’s what Loren can tell us about.  It’ll be next best to getting off somewhere one’s self.”