"We are?" Mrs. Sharp gave a sobbing gasp of relief. "Only a few acres got to go. That won't hurt you." "Thank God for that! And it's goin' to be the best crop we ever had. It's the finest country in the world!" Her face was beaming. "You'd better be getting back," warned Taylor. "Sid's taken the inspector up to give him some dinner." "He hasn't!" said Mrs. Sharp indignantly. "If that isn't just like a man." She made a gesture condemning the sex. "It's a mercy there's plenty in the house. But I must be getting along right away," she bustled. "But you mustn't think of walking all that way back in the hot sun," expostulated Nora. "There's Eddie's rig. Reggie, here, will drive you over." "Oh, thank you, kindly. I'm not used to walking very much, you know, and I'd be all tuckered out by the time I got back home. Good-by, all. Good afternoon, Mrs. Taylor." "Good afternoon. Reggie, you won't mind driving Mrs. Sharp back. It's only just a little over a mile." "Not a bit of it," said Hornby good-naturedly. "I'll come and help you put the mare in," said Marsh, starting to follow Hornby and Mrs. Sharp down the path. "I guess it's a relief to you, now you know," he called back to his brother-in-law. "Terrible. I want to have a talk with you presently, Ed. I'll go on out with him, I guess," he said, turning to his wife. She nodded silently. She was grateful to him for leaving her alone for a time. They would have much to say to each other a little later. "Hold on, Ed, I'm coming." "Right you are!" He ran lightly down the path where his brother-in-law stood waiting for him. She stood for a long moment looking down at the innocent-looking little blossoms on her table. And they could cause such heartbreak and desolation, ranking, as engines of destruction, with the frost and the hail! Could make such seasoned and tried women as Mrs. Sharp weep and bring the gray look of apprehension into the eyes of a man like her husband. Those innocent-looking little flowers! What must he have felt as he saw her arranging them so light-heartedly in her pudding-dish that morning. And yet, rather than mar her pleasure, he had choked back the impulse to speak. Yes, that was like him. For a moment they blurred as she looked at them. She checked her inclination to throw them into the stove, to burn them to ashes so that they could work their evil spells no more. Later on, she would do so. But she wanted them there until he returned. She looked about the little room. Yes, it _was_ pretty and homelike, deserving all the nice things people said about it. And what a real pleasure she had had in transforming it, from the dreadful little place it was when she first saw it, into what it was now. Not that she could ever have worked the miracle alone. She smiled sadly to herself. How all her thoughts, like homing pigeons, had the one goal!