"Oh, if you bend a twig young enough, the tree will grow that way."
She laughed softly and he gave her a quick look.

For a few moments they sat in silence.

"How did you happen to make another change, Joe?" she asked at length,
very quietly.

He paused before replying. "Well," he began, "you see I've never had
any real preparation for anything I was doin'. I never could have got
anywhere. Those jobs I had in town--I just drifted into 'em. Anybody
could have filled 'em. I--what was the use of 'em?" He paused and was
silent.

She nodded slowly. "I think you said something like that once before.
I begin to see where you were right."

He made no reply. Why did she want to talk about such things? He hoped
she wouldn't bring in Claybrook and her relations with him. He did not
feel in the mood for raking over ashes.

"Has Miss Susie been in bed?" He carefully headed on another tack.

"Oh, up and down. She's always that way. You cannot imagine how
surprised I was to see you with that road gang. I was riding along
with Zeke, all wrapped up in my thoughts, and suddenly I looked up and
saw you there----" She trailed off and sat thinking.

Again he was uneasy. Apparently the uncomfortable topic was not
entirely buried yet. It might rise up exhumed, in its shroud, any
moment.

"Yes," he said. "I'm used to that sort of thing--managin' niggers. Had
'em doin' most every sort of rough work in my time, diggin' ditches,
mendin' roads, cuttin' fence posts--all that sort of thing. Guess it's
about all I'm fit for." The effort died lugubriously and he sat,
waiting. He hated personal confidences and there hung a most
particularly uncomfortable one in the offing.

The silence was like a living thing. It crushed down upon the
summerhouse with huge, downy black wings. A very faint rustling
started up in the dry leaves of the creeper on the roof and clammy
little draughts of air came twisting through the cracks. All the
languorous glamour of the night had passed. It was merely autumn
moonlight, and too late in the year to be sitting out in a summerhouse
mouthing inconsequentialities--two people who were old enough to know
better. Joe stirred restlessly. Surely she must be convinced that he
meant to be friendly. He leaned back and looked up at the sky.

"What do you mean to do, Joe?" Mary Louise began again.

"Huh?" He recovered with a start. "Oh, I don't know. Think sometimes I
will come back and try my hand at farmin'. Think may