He ----" The last word shrivelled on her lips, which puckered
into a confused smile at the warning frown of her brother. The man
that they were discussing had come round to them past the henhouse.
How much had he overheard?

He didn't seem angry, anyhow. He called: "Well, Evy, ready?" and Eve
was glad to run into the house for her hat without looking at him.
It was a relief that she must sit on the back seat where she need
not face Uncle Nelson. Tim sat in front; but Tim was so stupid
he wouldn't mind.

Nor did he; it was Nelson Forrest that stole furtive glances
at the lad's profile, the knitted brows, the freckled cheeks,
the undecided nose, and firm mouth.

The boyish shoulders slouched forward at the same angle
as that of the fifty-year-old shoulders beside him.
Nelson, through long following of the plough, had lost
the erect carriage painfully acquired in the army.
He was a handsome man, whose fresh-colored skin gave him
a perpetual appearance of having just washed his face.
The features were long and delicate. The brown eyes had a liquid
softness like the eyes of a woman. In general the countenance
was alertly intelligent; he looked younger than his years;
but this afternoon the lines about his mouth and in his brows
warranted every gray hair of his pointed short beard.
There was a reason. Nelson was having one of those searing
flashes of insight that do come occasionally to the most
blindly hopeful souls. Nelson had hoped all his life.
He hoped for himself, he hoped for the whole human race.