The Tailor-Made Girl/In the Country
IN THE COUNTRY.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, Mr. Curtis, what a lovely, dewy morning!
Farmer Curtis.—Yes; them slippers of yours will ketch it.
Miss Featheredge.—Why, the grass is quite wet. Whatever makes the grass wet, now?
Farmer Curtis.—Why, the dew, to be sure.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, but you know the dew falls at night.
Farmer Curtis.—Yes; it stays fallen, too, till the sun dries it off next day.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, now, really! But how clear and limpid the air is—like new wine.
Farmer Curtis.—H'm. Did you ever happen to see new wine?
Miss Featheredge.—Really, now—I am not positive that I ever have.
Farmer Curtis.—H'm. Well, it's about the muddiest looking stuff you ever came across.
Miss Featheredge.—Is it, now, really? You have a lovely farm here!
Farmer Curtis.—H'm. Pretty fair for a side-hill lay.
Miss Featheredge.—And look, there comes an ideal yeoman.
Farmer Curtis.—Oh, no; he's one of the hands.
Miss Featheredge.—So stalwart and graceful!
Farmer Curtis.—That young feller can mow a wider swath than any man I ever had—
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, I am sure of it—a perfect Hercules!
Farmer Curtis.—Yes; an' drink more beer than any three I ever had.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, what an iconoclast you are, Mr. Curtis.
Farmer Curtis.—H'm—p'rhaps so.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, but you are, you know. Fancy that young Apollo drinking beer!
Farmer Curtis.—That's just what he can do, every time.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, there are the cows—where are they going?
Farmer Curtis.—To be milked.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, may I go and see them?
Farmer Curtis.—Oh, yes; go right along.
Miss Featheredge.—And here comes the milkmaid. Oh, I am so glad she is a milkmaid and not a milkman!
Farmer Curtis.—She couldn't very well be that.
Miss Featheredge.—I feel positively grateful to you, Mr. Curtis. It is all so delightfully rural and effective—the gentle cows, the fresh, young milkmaid—oh, if she will only carry the milk-pails on her head, it will simply be a picture!
Farmer Curtis.—H'm, Elmiry'll hardly do that.
Miss Featheredge.—I am so sorry. There is something very calm and soothing about a cow, I think; don't you, Mr. Curtis?
Farmer Curtis.—I don't know as it ever struck me—
Miss Featheredge.—That one now being milked stands placidly chewing her cud, content and philosophical.
Farmer Curtis.—Hold on, Elmir—There goes a good ten quarts!
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, Mr. Curtis, the milkmaid—
Farmer Curtis.—She ain't hurt, She got out of the way. She knows Brindle through and through.
Miss Featheredge.—But, Mr. Curtis—another shattered idol; she's cross-eyed, and forty, at least.
Farmer Curtis.—Brindle?
Miss Featheredge.—Milkmaid.
Farmer Curtis.—Nearer fifty; but she's mighty useful. Brindle cuts up that caper about once a week. I'll beef her next winter. That's a fine young heifer yonder.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, yes, lovely! You mean the one with dark spots?
Farmer Curtis.—Yes.
Miss Featheredge.—And a heifer, I suppose, is a—a—he-cow?
Farmer Curtis.—H'm. Well, no, not exactly.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, where are those men going?
Farmer Curtis.—Out in the fields to mow.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, are they? How lovely! Do they sing?
Farmer Curtis.—Not that I know of.
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, I fancy they do! In the opera, you know, the mowers' chorus is so lovely!
Farmer Curtis.—H'm—I guess they don't sing it out of the opera!
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, and what is it they mow?
Farmer Curtis.—Grass!
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, is it now? I fancied it was hay!
Farmer Curtis.—H'm—it isn't hay till its mowed and dried!
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, yes, I know! I have a bunch of dried grasses at home now!
Farmer Curtis.—Yes?
Miss Featheredge.—Oh, do promise me that I shall have a ride on a hay-mow?
Farmer Curtis.—H'm—you shall have a ride!
Miss Featheredge.—Thanks, awfully—it will be such an interesting experience! I think I'll go in now, my feet are really quite damp!
Farmer Curtis (watching her go).—H'm, damp! They're soaked! White dress, bronze slippers, and silk stockings, for walking over a farm before breakfast! H'm!
