During the afternoon, they both saw boats on the quiet waters of The Bend, and at supper told each other what they had seen.

And in the evening they together watched the twinkling lights of the clubhouse windows, and once they heard voices and laughter from somewhere on the river as though a boating party were making merry.
Two days later, Brian and Betty Jo were just finishing dinner when a step sounded on the porch, and a man appeared in the open doorway.
The stranger was dressed in the weird and flashy costume considered by his class to be the proper thing for an outing in the country, and his face betrayed the sad fact that, while he was mentally, spiritually, and physically greatly in need of a change from the unclean atmosphere that had made him what he was, he was incapable of benefiting by more wholesome conditions of living.

He was, in fact, a perfect specimen of that type of clubman who, in order to enjoy fully the beautiful life of God's unspoiled world, must needs take with him all of the sordid and vicious life of that world wherein he is most at home.
With no word of greeting, he said, with that superior air which so many city folk assume when addressing those who live in the country: "Have you people any fresh vegetables or eggs to sell ?" Brian and Betty Jo arose, and Brian, stepping forward, said, with a smile: "No, we have nothing to sell here; but I think our neighbor, Mr.
Warden, just over the hill, would be glad to supply you.

Won't you come in ?" The man stared at Brian, turned an appraising eye on Betty Jo; then looked curiously about the room.
"I beg your pardon," he said, removing his cap, "I thought, when I spoke, that you were natives.

My name is Green,--Harry Green.