Jesse and Charley rose, wordlessly, as though with one thought and glanced across the little meadow beyond. It was a Persian carpet of spring flowers--little pink, and mauve, and yellow chalices. Charley gazed at it a moment, her head thrown back. She began to walk toward it, through the wood. Jesse stopped to light a cigarette. His eyes were on Charley. He called out to her. "See your whole leg through that dress of yours, Charley." She glanced down carelessly. "Yes? That's because I'm standing in the sun, I suppose." It was a slim little wool jersey frock. "I never wear a petticoat with this." They strolled off together across the meadow. "Well!" exploded Ben Gartz, "that young fella certainly is a free talker." He looked after them, his face red. "Young folks nowdays----" "Young folks nowdays are wonderful," Lottie said. She remembered an expression she had heard somewhere. "They're sitting on top of the world." Out on the flower-strewn carpet of meadow-grass Charley was doing a dance in the sunlight all alone--a dance that looked like an inspired improvisation and that probably represented hours of careful technical training. If a wood-nymph had ever worn a wool jersey frock she would have looked as Charley looked now. Ben, almost grudgingly, admitted something like this. "Gosh, that kid certainly can dance! Where'd she pick it up?" "She's had years of training--lessons. Boys and girls do nowdays, you know. They have everything. We never used to. I wish we had. If their teeth aren't perfect they're straightened. Everything's made perfect that's imperfect. And they're taught about music, and they know books, and they look the world in the eye. They're free!" Ben dug in the soft ground with a bit of wood. "How d'you mean--free?" "Why I mean--free," she said again, lamely. "Honest. Not afraid." "Afraid of what?" She shook her head then, and went on with her knitting. Lottie looked very peaceful and pleasant there in the little sun-dappled wood, with the light shining on her hair, her firm strong shoulders resting against the black trunk of the tree, her slim black-silk ankles crossed primly. Ben regarded her appreciatively. "Well, you're perfect enough to suit me," he blurted. "Oh, Mr. Gartz, sir! You're a-flattering of me, so you are!" Inside she was thinking, "Oh, my goodness, stop him!" But Ben himself was a little terrified at what he had said. After all, the men's watch bracelet business was still in the venturesome stage. "Well, I'm not a man to flatter. I mean we're not so bad off, older folks like us. I'm not envying those kids anything. I guess I'm a kind of a funny fella, anyway. Different from most." "Do you think so?" Lottie encouraged him, knitting. ("You're exactly like a million others--a million billion others.") "I think so--yes. I've been around a good deal. I've had my ups and downs. I know this little old world from the cellar to the attic, and I don't envy anybody anything."