"All but one."
"What detained the one?"
"He was born far off in the wheatfields," explained Yekial, "and of all the children he loved the soil the best. He fairly worshipped it. Under his able hands crops grew even where the soil was barren. It was marvelous the way the earth responded to his efforts."
He spoke with enthusiasm. Not till that moment had his voice been so animated.
"You seem to like speaking of that particular boy," she commented.
"Yes," said he slowly, "because later he was my father. He taught me to love farm-life. I have never lived in a city. He gave me a good education. But after I had graduated I returned to the soil. Once I read in some book a quotation which I have never forgotten. 'Speak to the earth, if you wish a friend.' No truer word was ever spoken. The soil has been the only close friend I have ever had. It has been kind to me. For years until you came here, I have lived alone yet never have I been lonesome. I've done all my own cooking. Of course I've employed men to help in the fields. I've had to. I could never manage such a vast place alone, but these men at sundown have returned to their own houses. None of them have dwelt with me."
She looked at him, surprised. She had not imagined he could grow so eloquent. Here was a new Yekial Meigs, but it was a Yekial Meigs whom folks seldom beheld. He spoke usually in monosyllables.
Mary went over and sat on the bed. Yekial walked across the room and stood beside her.
"You're beautiful," he said. "I wonder if I may kiss you now."
"If you want to," she whispered. "There isn't anybody about, and we are home."
"In that case," he said rather huskily, "there is no need for hurry."
"None whatever," she said simply.
Abruptly he caught her to him, his lips were pressed to hers, his arms were about her in a grip that almost hurt. But she
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