ction in the river permitted, immediately set out in the direction
of the Red Farm. And no longer did Ambrose's face show signs of
struggle: his air had now become one of peaceful acquiescence in the
laws of nature. He had no idea of committing himself definitely,
however, by this visit to Peachy; his mind was not wholly made up and he
desired nothing abrupt or startling; it was simply that at present a day
of solitary musing did not appear so appealing as her companionship, and
moreover, Ambrose shared the universal masculine delusion that his was
the important mind to be made up.

A sense of humour means a sense of proportion and therefore an
appreciation of values, so Ambrose Thompson, the young Kentucky Romeo,
was not without a certain thrifty streak. In driving along it was not
disagreeable to reflect that the Red Farm was the richest tobacco farm
in the county and that Peachy was its sole heiress. Not that Peachy by
herself was insufficient; Ambrose also had pleasure in recalling the
firmness of her young bosom, the sheen of her auburn hair, the whiteness
of her teeth--and then--how frequently and how delightfully she laughed.
That her laugh was non-committal had not up to this time troubled her
admirer, who yearned for a feminine audience and had not yet learned to
ask that this audience be discriminating.

Even feeding chickens may be made an alluring picture, or at least
Ambrose thought so, when he had driven unobserved into the farmyard and
waited there watching Peachy, with her sleeves rolled back, flinging the
corn to the ground. Also with his accustomed sensitiveness to
impressions the boy realized that the girl herself was not unlike one of
her own creamy leghorn hens; she, too, was both red and white with her
clear healthy skin, red hair, and red-brown eyes--and then the fulness
of her figure! The young man laughed delightedly, when turning and
catching sight of him the girl started running toward him with short,
uneven steps that yet got over the ground very quickly, and actually
when she spoke, there was a little cluck to her voice.

And yet, somehow, Peachy did not seem to feel the same degree of
surprise that her visitor did at his own unexpected appearance. She
blushed when he kissed her hand with an ardour peculiar to Ambrose
though foreign to custom in the "Pennyrile," but she betrayed no wonder
at his visit in the broad daylight when plainly he should have been at
work in his store. Neither did