Bessie laughed.  Dolly’s smile was ample proof that there was nothing ill-natured about her little gibe.

“Girls on farms in this country don’t work in the fields—­the men wouldn’t let them,” said Bessie.  “They’d rather have them stay in a hot kitchen all day, cooking and washing dishes.  And when they want a change, the men let them chop wood, and fetch water, and run around to collect the eggs, and milk the cows, and churn butter and fix the garden truck!  Oh, it’s easy for girls and women on a farm—­all they have to do is a few little things like that.  The men do all the hard work.  You wouldn’t let your wife do more than that, would you, Walter?”

The boy flushed.

“When I get married, I’m aimin’ to have a hired gal to do all them chores,” he said.  “They’s some farmers seem to think when they marry they’re just gettin’ an extra lot of hired help they don’t have to pay fer, but we don’t figger that way in these parts.  No, ma’am.”

He looked shyly at Dolly as he spoke, and Dolly, who was an accomplished little flirt, saw the look and understood it very well.  She tossed her pretty head.

“You needn’t look at me that way, Walt Stubbs,” she said.  “I’m never going to marry any farmer—­so there!  I’m going to marry a rich man, and live in the city, and have my own automobile and all the servants I want, and never do anything at all unless I like.  So you needn’t waste your breath telling me what a good time your wife is going to have.”

Walter, already as brown as a berry from the hot sun under which he worked every day, turned redder than he had been before, if that was possible.  But, wisely, he made no attempt to answer Dolly.  He had already been inveigled into two or three arguments with the sharp witted girl from the city, and he had no mind for any more of the cutting sarcasm with which she had withered him up each time just as he thought he had got the best of her.

Still, in spite of her sharp tongue and her fondness for teasing him, Walt liked Dolly better than any of the girls from the city who were staying on the farm, and he was always glad to welcome her when she appeared where he was working, even though she interrupted his work, and made it necessary for him to stick to his job after the others were through in order to make up for lost time.  But Dolly had little use for him, in spite of his obvious devotion, which all the other girls had noticed.  And this time his silence didn’t save him from another sharp thrust.

“Goin’ to that ice-cream festival over to the Methodist Church at Deer Crossin’ to-night?” she asked him, trying to imitate his peculiar country accent.

“I’m aimin’ to,” he said uncomfortably.  “You said you was goin’ to let me take you.  Isn’t that so?”

“Oh, yes—­I suppose so,” she said, tossing her head again.  “But I never said I’d let you bring me home, did I?  Maybe I’ll find some one over there I like better to come home with.”