"I understand you're interested in conservation. Miss Foraker," Taylor said.
Her gaze flashed to him as though she expected to find ridicule in his face, held a moment, and, not finding it, she smiled faintly.
"Most people who are doing what is usually called conservation work don't like the word. It suggests holding out, a setting apart. Growing new forests is what my father called national life insurance. They are not to be held out of use forever, but to be used when ripe and ready for market."
She spoke quickly with assurance, and yet with abstraction as one will who is accustomed to repeating a maxim for the unschooled.
"Your father was rather a pioneer in reforestation, I take it."
She nodded. "A pioneer in this country, at least. This is the first fairly big hand-grown forest we have."
"It surprised me. I had no idea it was so far along."
"Most people who stop in Pancake have little idea of what is here."
"I understand that. I heard about your pine on the way out."
"With embellishments, I presume?"
"Plenty," he laughed.
Silence. Helen spoke to the other woman and to the children, but displayed no inclination to talk further with Taylor, which nettled him. He cast about for another conversational entry and finding none urged:
"I'm interested. Where did your father get his idea? How long ago did he make his beginning?"
"Aunty May, give Bessy some more potato, will you?"
