n, to give a humorous turn to the large words with
which she sometimes embellished her conversation. Her father said that
her freedom from the drawl was no fault of the Montgomery High School,
but attributable to his own vigilance.

Phil knew that it was unseemly to be talking across a fence to a strange
young man, particularly when her father was doubtless waiting for her to
return for the homeward journey; and she knew that she was guilty of a
grievous offense in talking to a Holton in any circumstances. Still the
situation appealed to her imagination. There hung the moon, patron
goddess of such encounters, and here were fields of mystery.

"They say it's no good, do they? They're right. I know all about it, so
you don't need to be sorry for me."

Sensitiveness spoke here; obviously others had made the mistake, of
which she would not be guilty, of sympathizing with him in his
possession of these unprofitable acres. Phil had no intention of being
sorry for him. She rather liked him for not wanting her sympathy, though
to be sure there was no reason why he should have expected it.

"You've been living in Indianapolis?"

"The folks have. Father died, you know, nearly two years ago. I was in
Mexico, and now I'm back to stay."

"I suppose you learned farming in Mexico?" Phil pursued.

"Well, hardly! Mining; no silver; quit."

"Oh," said Phil, and filed his telegram for reference.

They watched the dance for a few minutes.

"What's that?"

Phil started guiltily as Holton turned his head toward the creek,
listening. Her father was sounding the immelodious fish-horn which he
called their signal corps. He must have become alarmed by her long
absence or he would not have resorted to it, and she recalled with shame
that it had been buried in a soap-box with minor cooking-utensils at the
bottom of the wagon, and could not have been resurrected without
trouble.

"Good-bye!" She ran swiftly across the field toward the creek. The horn,
sounding at intervals in long raucous blasts, roused Phil to her best
speed. She ran boy fashion with her head down, elbows at her sides. Fred
Holton watched her until she disappeared.

He made a detour of the barn, followed a lane that led to the town road,
and waited, in the shadow of a great walnut at the edge of a pasture. He
was soon rewarded by the sound of wheels coming up from the creek, and
in a moment the one-horse wagon bearing Phil and her father passed
slowly. He heard the