“Yo’ pa got his crops in?”

“Pretty much.  The peanuts were harvested after the last frost.”

“He ain’t had much luck this year, I hear.”

Nicholas shook his head.

“No less than usual.  Last year he lost the brindle cow that was calving.  This season the mare died.”

“Well, well!  He never was much for luck, nohow.  Seems like he worked too hard to have Providence on his side.  I allers said that Providence had ruther you’d leave a share of the business to Him.  Got through school yet?”

“Yes; I’m reading law.”

“Reading what?”

“I am going to study law in the judge’s office—­Judge Bassett, you know.”

“So you can keep a tongue in yo’ head when those plagued cusses come ’bout the mortgage?”

“So I can take cases to court and earn a living.”

“Why don’t you stick to the land and make yo’ bread honest?”

“The law’s honest.”

Turner shook his hairy head.

“It cheated me out o’ twelve bushels of ‘taters las’ year,” he said.  “Don’t tell me ‘bout yo’ law.  I know it.”

Nicholas laughed.

“Come to me when I’ve set up, if you get in trouble,” he rejoined, “and I’ll get you out.”

The cow gave a lunge at the ropes, and the farmer went on his way.  When the man and cow had passed from sight Nicholas stopped and laughed again.  He wondered if he could be really of one flesh and blood with these people—­of one stuff and fibre.  What had he in common with his own father—­hard-working, heavy-handed Amos Burr?  No, he was not of them and he had never been.

He had turned from the main road into the wood, when a girl on horseback dashed suddenly towards him from the gray perspective.  She was riding rapidly, her short skirts flying, her hair blown darkly across her face.  A brown-and-white pointer ran at her side.

As she caught sight of Nicholas she half rose in her saddle, giving a loud, clear call.

“Hello, Nick Burr!  Hello!”

Nicholas stood aside and waited for her to come up, which she did in a moment, panting from her exercise, her face flushing into a glowing heat.

“I was looking for you,” she said, waving a small willow spray in her brown hand.  “I went by the farm, but you weren’t there.  So, you are nineteen to-day!” Her eyes shone as she looked at him.  There was a singular brilliance of expression in her face, due partly to the exercise, partly to the restless animation of her features.  She was at the unbecoming age when the child is merging into the woman, but her lack of grace was redeemed by her warmth of personality.

Nicholas laid his hand upon the bridle.

“Why, Genia, if I’d known you wanted me I’d have been hanging round somewhere.  What is it?”

“Let me look at you.”

Nicholas flushed, turning his face away from her.

“God knows, I’m ugly enough,” he said.