When he had returned to his station on the porch he was thinking how women were reeds driven by the winds of their emotions, and really, in a measure, irresponsible.
If he had again found Sylvia with her apron over her face, he was quite prepared to be very tender, but he was relieved to see that the paroxysm had passed.

He did not smile as he sat down, neither did Sylvia.

It was rather unusual for them to smile at each other, but they exchanged looks of peaceful accord, which really meant more than smiles.
"Well," said Henry, "the kettle's on the stove." "How much corn did you get ?" "Well, I allowed three ears apiece.

They're pretty good size.

I thought that was about right." Sylvia nodded.
"The corn's holding out pretty well," said Henry.