She hurriedly took off her shoes and stockings--how delicious the cool, soft velvet of the grass! and sitting down on the bank under the great basswood, whose roots formed an abrupt bank, she slid her poor blistered, chafed feet into the water, her bare head leaned against the huge tree-trunk. And now, as she rested, the beauty of the scene came to her. Over her the wind moved the leaves. A jay screamed far off, as if answering the cries of the boy. A kingfisher crossed and recrossed the stream with dipping sweep of his wings. The river sang with its lips to the pebbles. The vast clouds went by majestically, far above the tree-tops, and the snap and buzzing and ringing whir of July insects made a ceaseless, slumberous undertone of song solvent of all else. The tired girl forgot her work. She began to dream. This would not last always. Some one would come to release her from such drudgery. This was her constant, tenderest, and most secret dream. He would be a Yankee, not a Norwegian. The Yankees didn't ask their wives to work in the field. He would have a home. Perhaps he'd live in town--perhaps a merchant! And then she thought of the drug clerk in Rock River who had looked at her--A voice broke in on her dream, a fresh, manly voice. "Well, by jinks! if it ain't Julia! Just the one I wanted to see!" The girl turned, saw a pleasant-faced young fellow in a derby hat and a cutaway suit of diagonals. "Bod Rodemaker! How come--" She remembered her situation and flushed, looked down at the water, and remained perfectly still. "Ain't you goin' to shake hands? Y' don't seem very glad t' see me." She began to grow angry. "If you had any eyes, you'd see." Rob looked over the edge of the bank, whistled, turned away. "Oh, I see! Excuse me! Don't blame yeh a bit, though. Good weather f'r corn," he went on, looking up at the trees. "Corn seems to be pretty well forward," he continued, in a louder voice, as he walked away, still gazing into the air. "Crops is looking first-class in Boomtown. Hello! This Otto? H'yare, y' little scamp! Get on to that horse agin. Quick, 'r I'll take y'r skin off an' hang it on the fence. What y' been doing?" "Ben in swimmin'. Jimminy, ain't it fun! When 'd y' get back?" said the boy, grinning. "Never you mind!" replied Rob, leaping the fence by laying his left hand on the top rail. "Get on to that horse." He tossed the boy up on the horse, and hung his coat on the fence. "I s'pose the ol' man makes her plough, same as usual?" "Yup," said Otto. "Dod ding a man that'll do that! I don't mind if it's necessary, but it ain't necessary in his case." He continued to mutter in this way as he went across to the other side of the field. As they turned to come back, Rob went up and looked at the horse's mouth. "Gettin' purty near of age. Say, who's sparkin' Julia now--anybody?" "Nobody 'cept some ol' Norwegians. She won't have them. Por wants her to, but she won't." "Good f'r her. Nobody comes t' see her Sunday nights, eh?"