“How is our farm?” she asked.

Now I had not forgotten how she had been kissed by Bob Wade, and probably, while I was outside sulking, by a dozen others.  By instinct again—­the instinct of a jealous boy—­I started in to punish her.

“All right,” I said surlily.

“What crops have you planted?” she went on.

“About ten acres of wheat,” I said, “and the rest of my breaking in corn and oats.  You see, I have to put in all the time I can in breaking.”

“How is the white heifer?” she asked, inquiring as to one of my cattle that she had petted a lot.

“She has a calf,” said I.

“Oh, has she?  How I wish I could see it!  What color is it?”

“Spotted.”

There followed a long silence, during which we went farther and farther off the road.

“Jake,” said the judge, “whose house is that we just passed?”

“It’s that new Irishman’s,” said I.  “Mike Cosgrove, ain’t that his name?”

“Well, then,” said the judge, “we’re off the road.  Stop!”

“Yes,” I said, “I made the wrong turn back there.  It’s only a little farther.”

The judge was plainly put out about this.  He even wanted to go back to the regular road again, and when I explained that we would soon reach a trail which would lead right into the Centre, he still persisted.

“If we were to be robbed on this out-of-the-way road,” said he, “it would look funny.”

“It would look funnier,” I said, “if we were to go back and then get robbed.  Any one waiting to rob us would be on the regular road, wouldn’t they?”

So I stubbornly drove on, the judge grumbling all the while for a mile or so.  Then he and Mrs. Stone began talking in a low tone, under the cover of which Virginia resumed her conversation with me.

“You are a stubborn Dutchman,” said she.  To which I saw no need of making any reply.

“You seemed to have a good time,” she said, presently.

“I didn’t,” said I.  “I’m nobody by the side of such people as Bob Wade.  I wasn’t even invited.  I’m just paid to come along with the judge to protect the county’s money.  You’ll never see me again at any of your grand kissing parties.”

“It was the first I ever went to,” said she; “but you seemed to know what to do pretty well—­you and Kittie Fleming.”

This stumped me for a while, and we drove on in silence.

“I didn’t kiss her,” I said.

“It looked like it,” said Virginia.

“She kissed me,” I protested.

“You seemed to like it,” she insisted.

“I didn’t!” I said, mad all over.  “And I quit just as soon as the kissing began.”

“You ought to have stayed,” she said stiffly.  “The fun was just beginning when you flounced out.”