“It’s real dusty, isn’t it?” said she, by way of breaking a silence she found unbearable.  “It’ll make my shoes look horrid.”

“Walk over on the side more,” advised Jim laconically.

“Then I’ll get in with all those weeds; they’re covered with dust and wet, besides,” objected Fanny....  “Say, Jim!”

“Well?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had an auto, then I could step in, right in front of the house, and keep as clean as—­”

The young man laughed.

“Wouldn’t you like an aeroplane better, Fan?  I believe I would.”

“You could keep it in the barn; couldn’t you, Jim?”

“No,” derided Jim, “the barn isn’t what you’d call up-to-date.  I require a hangar—­or whatever you call ’em.”

The girl smothered a sigh.

“If we weren’t so poor—­” she began.

“Well?”

“Oh—­lots of things....  They say that Orr girl has heaps of money.”

“Who says so?” demanded her brother roughly.

“Why, everybody.  Joyce Fulsom told me her father said so; and he ought to know.  Do you suppose—?”

“Do I suppose what?”

Jim’s tone was almost savage.

“What’s the matter with you, Jim?”

Fanny’s sweet voice conveyed impatience, almost reproach.  It was as if she had said to her brother, “You know how I must feel, and yet you are cross with me.”

Jim glanced down at her, sudden relenting in his heart.

“I was just thinking it’s pretty hard lines for both of us,” said he.  “If we were rich and could come speeding into town in a snappy auto, our clothes in the latest style, I guess things would be different.  There’s no use talking, Fan; there’s mighty little chance for our sort.  And if there’s one thing I hate more than another it’s what folks call sympathy.”

“So do I!” cried Fanny.  “I simply can’t bear it to know that people are saying behind my back, ‘There’s poor Fanny Dodge; I wonder—­’ Then they squeeze your hand, and gaze at you and sigh.  Even mother—­I want you to tell mother I’m not—­that it isn’t true—­I can’t talk to her, Jim.”

“I’ll put her wise,” said Jim gruffly.

After a pause, during which both walked faster than before, he said hurriedly, as if the words broke loose: 

“Don’t you give that fellow another thought, Fan.  He isn’t worth it!”

The girl started like a blooded horse under the whip.  She did not pretend to misunderstand.

“I know you never liked him, Jim,” she said after a short silence.

“You bet I didn’t!  Forget him, Fan.  That’s all I have to say.”

“But—­if I only knew what it was—­I must have done something—­said something—­ I keep wondering and wondering.  I can’t help it, Jim.”

There was an irrepressible sob in the girl’s voice.

“Come, Fan, pull yourself together,” he urged.  “Here’s Ellen waiting for us by the gate.  Don’t for heaven’s sake give yourself away.  Keep a stiff upper lip, old girl!”