It was good to see her turn over the warm brown soil; it was good to see the plump green rows of lettuce and the thin green rows of onions, and the nasturtiums and sweet peas; it was good--after so many days in that desert of a city--to get a whiff of blossoming things.

I stood for a moment looking quietly over the fence before the woman saw me.

When at last she turned and looked up, I said: "Good morning." She paused, trowel in hand.
"Good morning," she replied; "you look happy." I wasn't conscious that I was smiling outwardly.
"Well, I am," I said; "I'm going home." "Then you OUGHT to be happy," said she.
"And I'm glad to escape THAT," and I pointed toward the city.
"What ?" "Why, that old monster lying there in the valley." I could see that she was surprised and even a little alarmed.

So I began intently to admire her young cabbages and comment on the perfection of her geraniums.

But I caught her eying me from time to time as I leaned there on the fence, and I knew that she would come back sooner or later to my remark about the monster.