own. Charlie been to see you?"

"Yes. He had some friends with him from the city. Charlie knows no end
of people."

"There are people like that," said Amzi, kicking a clod, and in doing so
nearly losing his equilibrium; "there are people with a talent for
knowing folks." This was not an important observation, nor was it at all
relevant. Mr. Montgomery had merely gone as far as he cared to in the
discussion of the distribution of Samuel Holton's estate and this was
his way of changing the subject.

Amzi walked ahead with Perry when they met at the edge of the orchard
and Phil loitered behind with Fred. A hawk swung from the cloudless
blue; sparrows, disturbed by these visitors, flew down the orchard
aisles in panic. The air was as dry as the stubble of the shorn fields.
From the elevation crowned by the orchard it was possible to survey the
neighborhood and Phil and Fred paused in silence for several minutes,
with their faces turned toward the creek.

Seeing Phil thus was very different from seeing her across a fence in
the moonlight, or meeting her at her kitchen door. Her new dark-blue
gown with hat to match struck him as being very stylish, as indeed, they
were, having come from the best shop in Indianapolis. Phil in gloves was
a different Phil, a remote being quite out of hailing distance. He was
torn between admiration for her dressed-upness and rebellion against a
splendor that set her apart like a goddess for timorous adoration.
Standing beside and a little behind her, his soul was shaken by the
quick shadowings of her lashes. He was so deep in thought during this
silent contemplation that he started and blushed when she turned round
suddenly.

"We're terribly solemn, I think," she remarked, regarding him
carelessly.

This was unfair. She had no right to look at him in that fashion, taking
his breath away and saying something to which he could think of no reply
whatever. Amzi and Perry had wandered away out of sight. She had spoken
of solemnity; it was a solemn thing to be alone with a girl like Phil,
on a day like this, under a fleckless sky, and with the scarlet maples
and the golden beeches gladdening the distances. Without looking at him,
Phil extended her monologue:--

"I like cheerfulness myself."

"I'm not so opposed to it as you may imagine," he replied, smiling. "I'm
not much of a talker. I've been alone a whole lot, in lonesome places
where there wasn't anybody to talk to. I suppose talking is