The struggle, however, ended suddenly, and hailing a man who plodded behind another team, Winston picked up his broad hat, which was trampled into shapelessness, and turned towards the wagon.  There was dust and spume upon him, a rent in the blue shirt, and the knuckles of one hand dripped red, but he laughed as he said, “I did not know we had an audience, but this, you see, is necessary.”

“Is it?” asked Miss Barrington, who glanced at the plowing.  “When wheat is going down?”

Winston nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “I mean, to me; and the price of wheat is only one part of the question.”

Miss Barrington stretched out her hand, though her niece said nothing at all.  “Of course, but I want you to help us down.  Maud has an account you have not sent in to ask you for.”

Winston first turned to the two men who now stood by the idle machine.  “You’ll have to drive those beasts of mine as best you can, Tom, and Jake will take your team.  Get them off again now.  This piece of breaking has to be put through before we loose again.”

Then he handed his visitors down, and Maud Barrington fancied as he walked with them to the house that the fashion in which the damaged hat hung down over his eyes would have rendered most other men ludicrous.  He left them a space in his bare sitting-room, which suggested only grim utility, and Miss Barrington smiled when her niece glanced at her.

“And this is how Lance, the profligate, lives!” said she.

Maud Barrington shook her head.  “No,” she said.  “Can you believe that this man was ever a prodigal?”

Her aunt was a trifle less astonished than she would once have been, but before she could answer Winston, who had made a trifling change in his clothing, came in.

“I can give you some green tea, though I am afraid it might be a good deal better than it is, and our crockery is not all you have been used to,” he said.  “You see, we have only time to think of one thing until the sowing is through.”

Miss Barrington’s eyes twinkled.  “And then?”

“Then,” said Winston, with a little laugh, “there will be prairie hay to cut, and after that the harvest coming on.”

“In the meanwhile, it was business that brought me here, and I have a check with me,” said Maud Barrington.  “Please let us get it over first of all.”

Winston sat down at a table and scribbled on a strip of paper.  “That,” he said gravely, “is what you owe me for the plowing.”

There was a little flush in his face as he took the check the girl filled in, and both felt somewhat grateful for the entrance of a man in blue jean with the tea.  It was of very indifferent quality, and he had sprinkled a good deal on the tray, but Winston felt a curious thrill as he watched the girl pour it out at the head of the bare table.  Her white dress gleamed in the light of a dusty window, and the shadowy cedar boarding behind her forced up each line of the shapely figure.  Again the maddening temptation took hold of him, and he wondered whether he had betrayed too much when he felt the elder lady’s eyes upon him.  There was a tremor in his brown fingers as he took the cup held out to him, but his voice was steady.