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“But why shouldn't they?”

“Why? That bunch of —— Telling ME —— Oh, for heaven's sake, let's quit arguing. All this discussing may be all right at a party but —— Let's forget it while we're hunting.”

“I know. The Wonderlust — probably it's a worse affliction than the Wanderlust. I just wonder —— ”

She told herself that she had everything in the world. And after each self-rebuke she stumbled again on “I just wonder —— ”

They ate their sandwiches by a prairie slew: long grass reaching up out of clear water, mossy bogs, red-winged black-birds, the scum a splash of gold-green. Kennicott smoked a pipe while she leaned back in the buggy and let her tired spirit be absorbed in the Nirvana of the incomparable sky.

They lurched to the highroad and awoke from their sun-soaked drowse at the sound of the clopping hoofs. They paused to look for partridges in a rim of woods, little woods, very clean and shiny and gay, silver birches and poplars with immaculate green trunks, encircling a lake of sandy bottom, a splashing seclusion demure in the welter of hot prairie.