Trent smoked, and Monty, who had apparently forgotten all about his visitor, plodded away amongst the potato
furrows, with every now and then a long, searching look towards the town.
Louise Trunnion came out across the potato
patch holding the dish cloth in her hand.
But why should not the New Englander try new adventures, and not lay so much stress on his grain, his potato
and grass crop, and his orchards -- raise other crops than these?