Summer Days

Winfield had easily acquired the habit of bringing her his morning
papers, and, after the first embarrassment, Ruth settled down to it in
a businesslike way. Usually, she sat in Miss Hathaway's sewing chair,
under a tree a little way from the house, that she might at the same
time have a general supervision of her domain, while Winfield stretched
himself upon the grass at her feet. When the sun was bright, he wore his
dark glasses, thereby gaining an unfair advantage.

After breakfast, which was a movable feast at the "Widder's," he went
after his mail and brought hers also. When he reached the top of the
hill, she was always waiting for him.

"This devotion is very pleasing," he remarked, one morning.

"Some people are easily pleased," she retorted. "I dislike to spoil your
pleasure, but my stern regard for facts compels me to say that it is not
Mr. Winfield I wait for, but the postman."

"Then I'll always be your postman, for I 'do admire' to be waited for,
as they have it at the 'Widder's.' Of course, it's more or less of an
expense--this morning, for instance, I had to dig up two cents to get
one of your valuable manuscripts out of the clutches of an interested
government."

"That's nothing," she assured him, "for I save you a quarter every day,
by taking Joe's place as reader to Your Highness, not to mention the
high tariff on the Sunday papers. Besides, the manuscripts are all in
now."