"Set right down, an’ make ye’rself at home," he told her.
The woman smiled to herself as Abner left her. Then she studied the room most critically, from the old-fashioned piano to the fresh flowers in the vase upon the center-table.
"Strange that the Attorney General’s daughter should be visiting here," she mused. "What an ignorant and uncouth man that farmer is. His language was most profane when he was trying to open the door."
Presently the long-drawn blast of the tin horn sounded upon her ears, and again she smiled, but it was the smile of contempt.
"How primitive," she meditated. "And to think of Miss Rivers picking berries like an ordinary country girl! I wonder if her father knows where she is, and what she is doing. I believe the Andrewses have a daughter. I suppose I must invite her, too."
In a few minutes Abner returned, sat down upon a chair near the piano, and crossed his legs.
"There, I guess that’ll bring her," he remarked. "Tildy’ll think the house is on fire. She’s most scared to death of fire, Tildy is."
"You have a beautiful place here," and the woman glanced out of the window on her left as she spoke.
"’Tain’t too bad, considerin’ everythin’."
"And the view is magnificent, Mr. Andrews."
"Yep. He called to see me when I was hoein’ pertaters."
"He did! And what did he want?" The woman seemed unusually curious, and this Abner noted.
"He wanted to buy my place," he explained.
"Yep. Wanted it as a summer place fer his family, so he said."
"Should say not. I ain’t anxious to sell, ’specially to Ikey Dimock."
"You have known him for some time, then?"
"Should say I have. Why, I knew Ikey Dimock when he was pickin’ pin-feathers off his mother’s chickens when she was gittin’ ’em ready fer market."
At these words the bland expression suddenly left the woman’s face, and she straightened herself up haughtily in her chair.
"Mr. Dimock is of good family, so I understand," she challenged.
"’Deed he is," was Abner’s unexpected agreement. "I knew Ikey’s dad well, an’ he was the best man I ever saw at steerin’ clear of a job. Why, when he was with me on my old Flyin’ Scud he spent most of his time plannin’ how to git clear of his work. He surely was great at that."
"But he was honest, at any rate, was he not?" the woman asked, now visibly annoyed.