Dorian seated himself on the sofa and invited her to sit by him, but she
took a chair by the table.
"You're not very neighborly," he said.
"As neighborly as you are," she retorted.
"What's the matter with you, Carlia?"
"Nothing the matter with me. I'm the same; only I must have grown up, as
you say."
A sound as of someone driving up the road came to them through the
open door. Carlia nervously arose and listened. She appeared to be
frightened, as she looked out to the road without wanting to be seen. A
light wagon rattled by, and the girl, somewhat relieved, went back to
her chair.
"Isn't it warm in here?" she asked.
"It's warm everywhere."
"I can't stay here. Let's go out--for a walk."
"All right--come on."
They closed the door, and went out at the rear. He led the way around to
the front, but Carlia objected.
"Let's go down by the field," she said. "The road is dusty."
The day was closing with a clear sky. A Sunday calm rested over meadow
and field, as the two strolled down by the ripening wheat. The girl
seemed uneasy until the house was well out of sight. Then she seated
herself on a grassy bank by the willows.
"I'm tired," she said with a sigh of relief.
Dorian looked at her with curious eyes. Carlia, grown up, was more of a
puzzle than ever.
"You are working too hard," he ventured.
"Hard work won't kill anybody--but it's the other things."
"What other things?"
"The grind, the eternal grind--the dreary sameness of every day."
"You did not finish the high school. Why did you quit?"
"I had to, to save mother. Mother was not only doing her usual house
work, but nearly all the outside choring besides. Father was away most
of the time on his dry farm too, and he's blind to the work at home. He
seems to think that the only real work is the plowing and the watering
and the harvesting, and he would have let mother go on killing herself.
Gee, these men!" The girl viciously dug the heel of her shoe into the
sod.
"I'm sorry you had to quit school, Carlia."
"Sorry? I wanted to keep on more than I ever wanted anything in my life;
but--"
"But I admire you for coming to the rescue of your mother. That was fine
of you."
"I'm glad I can do some fine thing."
Dorian had been standing. He now seated himself on the bank beside
her. The world about them was very still as they sat for a few moments
without speaking.
"Listen," said he, "I believe Uncle Zed is preaching. The meeting house
windows are wide open, for a wonder.
"He can preach," she remarked.
"He told me you visit him frequently."
"I do. He's the grandest man, and I like to talk to him."
"So do I. I had quite a visit with him this afternoon. I rather fooled
him, I guess."
"How?"
"He told me to go home and change my clothes, and then go to meeting;
but I came here instead."
"Why did you do that?"
"To see you, of course."
"Pooh, as if I was anything to look at."
"Well, you are, Carlia," and his eyes rested steadily on her to prove
his contention. "Why didn't you want to go to meeting this evening?"
"You heard me tell father."
"That wasn't the whole truth. I was not the reason because you had
decided not to go before I came."
"Well--how do you know that? but, anyway, it's none of your business,
where I go, is it?" She made an effort to stare him out of countenance,
but it ended in lowered head and eyes.
"Carlia! No, of course, it isn't. Excuse me for asking."
There was another period of silence wherein Dorian again wondered at the
girl's strange behavior. Was he annoying her? Perhaps she did not care
to have him paying his crude attentions to her; and yet--
"Tell me about your dry farm," she said.
"I've already plowed eighty acres," he informed her. "The land is rich,
and I expect to raise a big crop next year. I've quite a cosy house, up
there, not far from the creek. The summer evenings are lovely and cool.
I can't get mother to stay over night. I wish you would come and go with
her, and stay a few days."
"How could I stay away from home that long? The heavens would fall."
"Well, that might help some. But, honestly, Carlia, you ought to get
away from this grind a little. It's telling on you. Don't you ever get
into the city?"
"Sometimes Saturday afternoons to deliver butter and eggs."
"Well, some Saturday we'll go to see that moving picture show that's
recently started in town. They say it's wonderful. I've never been.
We'll go together. What do you say?"
"I would like to."
"Let's move on. Meeting is out, and the folks are coming home."
They walked slowly back to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Duke soon arrived and
told of the splendid meeting they had had.
"Uncle Zed spoke," said Mr. Duke, "and he did well, as usual. He's a
regular Orson Pratt."
"The people do not know it," added Dorian; "perhaps their children or
their children's children will."
"Well, what have you two been doing?" enquired the father of Carlia.
"We've just been taking a walk," answered Dorian. "Will it be alright
if Carlia and I go to the new moving picture theatre in town some
Saturday?"
Neither parent made any objection. They were, in fact, glad to have this
neighbor boy show some interest in their daughter.
"Your mother was at meeting," said Mrs. Duke; "and she was asking about
you."
"Yes; I've neglected her all afternoon; so I must be off. Good night
folks."
Carlia went with him to the gate, slipping her arm into his and
snuggling closely as if to get the protection of good comradship. The
movement was not lost on Dorian, but he lingered only for a moment.
"Goodnight, Carlia; remember, some Saturday."
"I'll not forget. Goodnight" she looked furtively up and down the road,
then sped back into the house.
Dorian walked on in the darkening evening. A block or so down the road
he came on to an automobile. No one in Greenstreet owned one of
these machines as yet, and there were but few in the city. As Dorian
approached, he saw a young man working with the machinery under the
lifted hood.
"Hello," greeted Dorian, "what's the trouble?"
"Damned if I know. Been stalled here for an hour." The speaker
straightened from his work. His hands were grimy, and the sweat was
running down his red and angry face. He held tightly the stump of a
cigarette between his lips.
"I'm sorry I can't help you," said Dorian, "but I don't know the first
thing about an automobile."
"Well, I thought I knew a lot, but this gets me." He swore again, as if
to impress Dorian with the true condition of his feelings. Then he
went at the machinery again with pliers and wrenches, after which he
vigorously turned the crank. The engine started with a wheeze and then a
roar. The driver leaped into the car and brought the racing engine to a
smoother running. "The cursed thing" he remarked, "why couldn't it have
done that an hour ago. O, say, excuse me, have you just been at the
house up the road?"
"The Duke house? yes."
"Is the old man--is Mr. Duke at home?"
"Yes; he's at home."
"Thank you." The car moved slowly up the road until it reached the Duke
gate where it stopped; but only for a moment, for it turned and sped
with increasing hurry along the road leading to the city.
Dorian stood and watched it until its red light disappeared. He wondered
why the stranger wanted to know why Mr. Duke was at home, then on
learning that he was, why he turned about as if he had no business with
him.
Later, Dorian learned the reason.