There were no morbid shadows in this Lois's life, she saw.

Her pains and pleasures were intensely real, like those of her class.

If there were latent powers in her distorted brain, smothered by hereditary vice of blood, or foul air and life, she knew nothing of it.

She never probed her own soul with fierce self-scorn, as this quiet woman by her side did;--accepted, instead, the passing moment, with keen enjoyment.

For the rest, childishly trusted "the Master." This very drive, now, for instance,--although she and the cart and Barney went through the same routine every day, you would have thought it was a new treat for a special holiday, if you had seen the perfect abandon with which they all threw themselves into the fun of the thing.
Not only did the very heaps of ruby tomatoes, and corn in delicate green casings, tremble and shine as though they enjoyed the fresh light and dew, but the old donkey cocked his ears, and curved his scraggy neck, and tried to look as like a high-spirited charger as he could.
Then everybody along the road knew Lois, and she knew everybody, and there was a mutual liking and perpetual joking, not very refined, perhaps, but hearty and kind.