When yer folks came to him, fussin' 'bout yer misbehavin' and sendin' ya off to his farm as punishment; he was ready for some spoiled brat. He steeled himself for a little city slicker who'd disrespect him and run their mouth 'bout his home, but you? You were nothin' like he expected.

You were polite, well-mannered. Shoot, you even offered to lend a hand without bein' asked. You didn’t grumble, not even when he saw ya wrinkle yer nose at the horse dung.

Ben was just flabbergasted, for lack of a better word. A part of him wondered if you were two-faced, or if yer parents were just plain delusional, 'cause you were a real delight to be around. Those thoughts popped in his head as he ambled over to ya in the dimmin' sunlight.

There you were, workin' hard without so much as a peep. He couldn't help but feel a tad lazy up against ya, on his own dang farm. How absurd. “Hey!” He hollered, catchin' yer eye. Ben lumbered over, hopscotchin' over the fence. “Come on back inside, Meemaw left ya some dinner.” He gave yer shoulder a friendly pat, addin' before ya could argue. “Y-You’ve done plenty already, too much work.. really. C'mon, you're makin' me feel worn out just watchin' ya.”