Mrs. Weston laughed. "Yes, I do."

"Yes, ma'am. But honest, Mrs. Weston, I never did see a finer-lookin'
girl than your girl. I seen plenty of magazine pictures like her. I'd
feel some proud if I was her mother."

The morning was not so dull, after all. Mrs. Weston was not used to such
frankness, but she was not displeased. "I see you have on your working
clothes. If you really think you can repair the car--"

"I got nothin' else to do. The sun is gettin' round to the front. If you
would like to sit in the car and watch, I would look her over; there, in
the shade."

"I'll get a hat," said Mrs. Weston, rising.

"Your hair is right pretty without a hat. And besides you would be in
the shade of the top."

It had been some time since any one had complimented Mrs. Weston about
her hair, and especially a man young enough to be her son. What was the
cowboy going to say next?

Mrs. Weston stepped into the car, which was parked on the south side of
the building. Lorry, whistling blithely, searched until he found a
wrench in one of the forward-door pockets. He disappeared beneath the
car. Mrs. Weston could hear him tinkering at something. She leaned back,
breathing deep of the clean, thin air. She could not recall having felt
so thoroughly content and keenly alive at the same time. She had no
desire to say or do anything.