He's been bitin' again over there, I take it.

To-morrow you and I will go down into the valley, seek the unappetizin' rock he rejected and look it over." "I think most likely," said Joan, "the farm's built on it." And then the sound of the horn came over the water and Joan ran.
Kenny as usual cursed the horn.
With the valley filled with the first haze of twilight and the hills still aglow, Kenny sat on the farm porch and brooded.

He had not meant to frighten her.

The Arbutus gallantry he had considered strategic and poetic.

There was the baffling thing about her that kept him piqued.
She was always shy and elusive.