Mr. Frye shook his head.  “I don’t know as I’m feeling very good to-day,” he told Farmer Barly.

As he was speaking, Anna Barly entered the store, on her way home.  Thomas Frye, who was behind the counter, came forward to meet her.  When she saw him, her cheeks, which were pale, grew red.  “He can see I was crying,” she thought.  “Well, I don’t care.  I hate him.  What did I stop for?”

She remembered that her mother had wanted a spool of white cotton.  “Number eleven,” she said.

When she saw her father and Mr. Frye in the corner, she grew sulkier than ever.  “They’re just laying to settle me down,” she thought.  And turning to hide her face, still stained with tears, she made believe to wave to some one, out the window.

Mr. Crabbe took another man.  “Tsck,” said Mr. Frye; “maybe I’d better go and see what Anna wants.  Thomas don’t appear to know what he’s about.”

“Leave them be,” said Mr. Crabbe, “leave them be.”  And he winked first at Mr. Barly, and then at Mr. Frye.  “Don’t go spoiling things,” he said.

Mr. Frye allowed his mouth to droop in a thin smile.  “Young people are slow to-day,” he remarked.  “They act like they had something on their minds.  Green fruit . . . slow to ripe.  In my time we went at it smarter.”  And he looked thoughtfully at Anna Barly.  He saw her in the form of acres of land, live stock, farm buildings, and money in the bank.  “Molasses,” he thought; “yes, sir, molasses.  Maple sugar.”  But when he looked at his son Thomas, he frowned.  “Go on,” he wanted to say, “go on, you slowpoke.”

Farmer Barly also frowned at Thomas Frye.  He felt that he was being hurried.  “She’s well enough where she is,” he thought.  “She’s young yet.  A year or two more . . .”

“Well,” said Mr. Crabbe, “I look forward to the day.”  And he waved his hand kindly in the air.  “It’s your move, Mr. F.”

Mr. Frye arose, and walked toward the door, where Thomas was bidding Anna good-by.  “See you to-night,” Thomas whispered; “heh, Anna?”

“Please yourself,” said Anna.  And off she went, without looking at Mr. Frye, who had come to speak to her.  When she was gone, Mr. Frye gave his son a keen glance.  In it was both curiosity and malice.  But Thomas turned away.  It seemed to him that women must have been easier to understand when his father was young.  For no one could understand them now.

While the storekeeper’s back was turned, Mr. Crabbe rearranged the checkerboard.  He took up two of Mr. Frye’s men and put them in his pocket.  Then he winked at Mr. Barly, as though to say:  “I’m just a leetle too smart for him.”

Farmer Barly winked back.  It amused him to have Mr. Frye beaten unfairly.  Mr. Frye wanted to get his daughter away from him.  “Well,” he said in his mind, to Mr. Frye, “just go easy.  Just go easy, Mr. Frye.”  And he winked again at Mr. Crabbe.  “That’s right,” he said, “give it to him.”