"Hello," answered Clint politely.

The newcomer paused and viewed the boy on the stand with frank
curiosity. Then his gaze wandered across to the mower, which was at the
instant making the turn at the further corner, over by the tennis
courts. Finally,

"Bossing the job?" he asked, nodding toward the mower.

Clint smiled and shook his head. "No, just--just loafing."

"Hot, isn't it?" The other pushed the gaily-ribboned hat to the back of
his head and drew a pale lavender handkerchief across his forehead.
"Been moseying around over there in the woods," he continued when Clint
had murmured agreement. "Studying Nature in her manifold moods. Nature
is some warm today. There's a sort of a breeze here, though,
isn't there?"

Clint agreed again, more doubtfully, and the boy who had been studying
Nature seated himself sidewise on a seat below, drawing his feet up and
clasping his hands about his knees. He was a good-looking, merry-faced
chap of seventeen, with dark-brown eyes, a short nose liberally freckled
under the tan and a rather prominent chin with a deep dimple in it. His
position revealed a full ten inches of the startling hose; and, since
they were almost under his nose, Clint gazed at them fascinatedly.

"Some socks, are they not?" inquired the youth.

Clint, already a little embarrassed by the other's friendliness, removed