The horse was beside her now, and the whirl-wind of dust his hoofs raised made her choke. Would the wagon stop or go on? The horse's head passed abreast of her, then his white, lathered body. Next the wagon came into sight, with Martin sitting proudly and stiffly on his perch. Afterward horse, wagon, and man rolled past, and the girl was left alone. Her lip trembled. Would he really leave her like this in the dust and heat? Would he leave even his worst enemy? It was incredible a human being could be so heartless. And the humiliation of it! To tag along behind him on foot, smothering in his dust! Rage possessed her. That should be the end of Mr. Martin Howe! He was no gentleman. He was not even human. She sat down on the stone wall once more, waiting for him to disappear and the dust from his wheels settle. But to her surprise she saw him come to a stop in the road and, pivoting around on his perch, face her. Lucy did not move. She watched him hesitate, waver, then dismount and come back through the dust. "If you're on your way home----" he began with clumsy gravity. The girl smiled up into his face. "If you're goin' back----" he repeated, and again got no further. She came to his rescue. "Have you room to take me in?" "There ain't much room." She saw the flicker of a smile shadow his face. "Still, if you don't mind bein' a mite cramped----" "I don't mind it at all unless it crowds you too much," answered Lucy. "It is very kind of you." Then she heard herself add without forethought: "I was afraid you were goin' by." "I ain't that much of a heathen, I hope," Martin returned gruffly. Although it was plain he was ill at ease, he helped her into the wagon, arranging the bags of meal solicitously that she might be as comfortable as possible. Then he touched the horse with his whip, and they started off. "I'm so thankful to have a ride home," sighed Lucy, after waiting a second or two and finding he had no intention of speaking. "It is very hot to-day." "So 'tis. But it is great weather for corn." "I suppose so," assented the girl. "How is yours coming on?" "Pretty well. Some blasted crow got a little of it at the beginnin'; but the rest of it is all right." "It was a shame you lost any of it." "I was a good deal put out myself. Still, 'twarn't much, considerin' the size of the field." Lucy dimpled. "Your field is a wonderful sight from our house," she answered, "especially when the wind blows. You have a fine lot of oats, too. I love to watch the breeze sweep across it." "I do myself," agreed Martin with increasing cordiality. "It's a pretty picture. There's lots of pretty pictures on a farm if you're lookin' for 'em," he added, stealing a glance at her. "Your sweet peas were a pretty picture," ventured Lucy mischievously. Martin colored with confusion. He seemed at a loss how to reply. Then, gathering courage, he remarked shyly: "You like flowers?" "I love them!"