e a crop? And did you notice how dry
and floury they were at dinner yesterday?"

"I did," says Luttrell, lying very commendably.

"Good boy. We take very great pride out of our potatoes (an Irish dish,
you will remember), more especially as every year we find ours are
superior to Lord Barton's. There is a certain solace in that,
considering how far short we fall in other matters when compared with
him. Here is the oat-field. Am I to understand you feel admiration?"

"Of the most intense," gravely.

"Good again. We rather feared"--speaking in the affected, stilted style
of a farming report she has adopted throughout--"last month was so
deplorably wet, that the oats would be a failure; but we lived in hope,
and you may mark the result here again: we are second to none. The
wheat-field----" With another slight comprehensive gesture. "By the
bye," pausing to examine his face, "am I fulfilling my duties as a
hostess? Am I entertaining you?"

"Very much indeed. The more particularly that I was never so
entertained before."

"I am fortunate. Well, that is the wheat. I don't know that I can
expect you to go into ecstasies over it, as I confess to me it appears
more or less weak about the head. _Could_ one say that wheat was
imbecile?"

"In these days," politely, "one may say anything one likes."

"Yes? You see that rain did some damage; but after all it might have
been worse."

"You will excuse my asking the question," says Luttrell, gravely, "but
did you ever write for the _Farmer's Gazette_?"

"Never, as yet. But," with an irrepressible smile, "your words suggest
to me brilliant possibilities. Perhaps were I to sit down and tell
every one in trisyllables what they already know only too well about
the crops, and the weather, and the Colorado beetle, and so forth, I
might perchance wake up some morning to find myself famous."

"I haven't the faintest doubt of it," says Tedcastle, with such
flattering warmth that they both break into a merry laugh. Not that
there is anything at all in the joke worthy of such a joyous outburst,
but because they are both so young and both so happy.

"Do you think I have done enough duty for one day?" asks Molly. "Have I
been prosy enough to allow of my leaving off now? Because I don't think
I have got anything more to say about the coming harvest, and I
wouldn't care to say it if I had."

"Do you expect me to say that I found you 'prosy'?"

"If you will be so very kind. And you a