When the bee-man went
toward town he never paused, nor once looked around to see me in my
field; but when he came back he watched for me, and when I responded to
his bow he would sometimes stop and reply to my greeting.
One day he came from town on foot and when he saw me, even though I was
some distance away, he approached the fence and took off his hat, and
held out his hand. I walked over toward him. I saw his full face for the
first time: a rather handsome face. The hair was thin and curly, the
forehead generous and smooth; but the chin was small. His face was
slightly flushed and his eyes--his eyes _burned_! I shook his hand.
"I had hoped," I said, "that you would stop sometime as you went by."
"Well, I've wanted to stop--but I'm a busy man. I have important matters
in hand almost all the time."
"You usually drive."
"Yes, ordinarily I drive. I do not use a team, but I have in view a fine
span of roadsters. One of these days you will see me going by your farm
in style. My wife and I both enjoy driving."
I wish I could here convey the tone of buoyancy with which he said these
words. There was a largeness and confidence in them that carried me
away. He told me that he was now "working with the experts"--those were
his words--and that he would soon begin building a house that would
astonish the country.
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