You're a true poet!" "I wish I were--so I might use it all for Socialism!" "You could make a fortune, if you'd work for some paper or magazine--some regular one, I mean, not Socialist." He shook his head.
"Dead sea fruit," he answered.

"Fairy gold, fading in the clutch, worthless through and through.

No, if my work has any merit, it's all for Socialism, now and ever!" Silence again.

Neither now found a word to say, but their eyes met and read each other; and a kind of solemn hush seemed to lie over their hearts.
Then, as they sat there, looking each at each--for now the girl had raised herself on the crude bed and was supporting herself with one hand--a sudden sound of a motor, on the road, awakened them from their musing.
Came the raucous wail of a siren.

Then the engine-exhaust ceased; and a voice, raised in some annoyance, hailed loudly through the maple-grove: "Hello! Hello?
What's wrong here ?" Gabriel stepped to the sugar-house door: "Here! Come here!" he shouted in a ringing voice that echoed wildly from between his hollowed palms.
As the motorist still sat there, uncomprehending, Gabriel made his way toward the road.
"Accident here," said he.