Austin, whose khaki and corduroy garments made him look more than ever
like a splendid bronze statue, nodded cheerfully.

"I know. But some one's got to work. We can't have two lilies of the
field on the same farm.--Sylvia wants to speak to you."

"Do you know why?" asked Thomas, promptly displaying more dispatch.

"I think she intends to suggest that you should take her to the
moving-pictures in Wallacetown to-morrow night. She doesn't get much
amusement here, and now that she's feeling so much stronger again, I
think she rather craves it."

"Of course she does," said Thomas, "and if you weren't the most selfish,
pig-headed, blind bat that ever flew, you'd have seen that she got it,
long before this. Where is she?"

It seemed to the impatient Thomas that the next evening would never
arrive. All night, and all the next day, he planned for it exultantly. He
was to have the chance which the ungrateful Austin had seen fit to cast
away. He would show Sylvia how much he appreciated it. Through the long
afternoon, suddenly grown unseasonably warm, he toiled on the motor until
it was spick and span from top to bottom and from end to end. He was
careful to start his labors early enough to allow a full hour to dress
before supper, cautioned his mother a dozen times to be sure there was
enough hot water left in the boiler for a deep bath, and laid out fresh
and gorgeous garments on the bed before he began his ablutions. He was
amazed to find, when he came downstairs, that Sylvia, who had tramped
over to the brick cottage that afternoon, was still in the short muddy