Yet, out of compassion for Susy's possible ignorance, he said neither, and responded with the American boy's modest conventionality, "President." It was safe, required no embarrassing description, and had been approved by benevolent old gentlemen with their hands on his head.
"I'm goin' to be a parson's wife," said Susy, "and keep hens, and have things giv' to me.

Baby clothes, and apples, and apple sass--and melasses! and more baby clothes! and pork when you kill." She had thrown herself at the bottom of the wagon, with her back towards him and her doll in her lap.

He could see the curve of her curly head, and beyond, her bare dimpled knees, which were raised, and over which she was trying to fold the hem of her brief skirt.
"I wouldn't be a President's wife," she said presently.
"You couldn't!" "Could if I wanted to!" "Couldn't!" "Could now!" "Couldn't!" "Why ?" Finding it difficult to explain his convictions of her ineligibility, Clarence thought it equally crushing not to give any.

There was a long silence.

It was very hot and dusty.