t sort of talk for
awhile--"Do you remember...?" and "Oh, whatever became of...?"

As they worked on Ruth thought of the strangeness of her being there
with this girl who, when they were in school together, had meant so
little to her. Her own work lagged, watching Annie as with quick, sure
motions she made the asparagus into bunches for market. She did things
deftly and somehow gave the feeling of subordinating them to something
else, of not letting them take all of her. Ruth watched her with
affectionate interest; she wore an all-over gingham apron, her big sun
hat pushed back from her browned, thin face; she was not at all
attractive unless one saw the eager, living eyes--keenly intelligent
eyes. Ruth thought of her other friends--the girls who had been her
friends when she was in school and whom she had not seen now; she
wondered why it was Annie had none of the feeling that kept those other
girls away.

Annie's husband was a slow, stolid man; Ruth supposed that in his youth,
when Annie married him, he had perhaps been attractive in his
stalwartness. He was sluggish now; good humored enough, but apparently
as heavy in spirit as in body. Things outside the material round of
life--working, eating, sleeping--simply did not seem to exist for him.
At first she wondered how Annie could be content with life with him,
Annie, who herself was so keenly alive. Thinking of it now it seemed
Annie had the same adjustment to him that she had to the
asparagus,--something subordinated, not taking up very much of herself.
She had about Annie, and she did not know just why she had it, the
feeling that here was a person who could not be very greatly harmed,
could not be completely absorbed by routine, could not, for some reason
she could not have given, be utterly vanquished by any circumstance. She
went about her work as if that were one thing--and then there were other
things; as if she were in no danger of being swallowed up in her manner
of living. There was something apart that was dauntless. Ruth wondered
about her, she wanted to find out about her. She wanted for herself that
valiant spirit, a certain unconquerableness she felt in Annie.

Annie broke a pause to say: "You can't know, Ruth, how much it means to
have you here."

Ruth's face lighted and she smiled; she started to speak, but instead
only smiled again. She wanted to tell what it meant to her to be there,
but that seemed a thing not easily told.

"I wish you could