tification, as if he knew she
had detected something out of the ordinary in him.

"No, I'm just out of Beloit," he said, with ready confidence. "You see
that I'm one of these fellows who have to work my passage. I put in my
vacations at my trade." He looked up at the roof again, as if checking
himself. "Yes, I should think from here that it would have to be
reshingled."

She sighed resignedly, and he knew she was poor. "Well, I suppose you
had better do it."

She thought of him pleasantly, as he walked off down the road after the
lumber and tools that were necessary. And, in his turn, he wondered
whether she were a widow or not. It promised to be a pleasant job. She
was quite handsome, in a serious way, he decided--very womanly and
dignified. Perhaps this was his romance, he thought, with the ready
imagination upon this point of a youth of twenty-one.

He returned soon with a German teamster, who helped him unload his
lumber and erect his stagings. When noon came he was working away on the
roof, tearing the old shingles off with a spade.

He was a little uncertain about his dinner. It was the custom to board
carpenters when they were working on a farm, but this farm was so near
town, possibly Mrs. Miner would not think it necessary. He decided,
however, to wait till one o'clock, to be sure. At half past twelve, a
man came in out of the field with a team--a short man, with curly hair,
curly chin beard, and mustache. He walked with a little swagger, and his
legs were slightly bowed. Morris called him "a little feller," and
catalogued him by the slant on his hat.

"Say," called Morris suddenly, "won't you come up here and help me raise
my staging?"

The man looked up with a muttered curse of surprise. "Who the hell y'
take me for? Hired man?" he asked, and then, after a moment, continued,
in a tone which was an insult: "You don't want to rip off the whole
broad side of that roof. Ain't y' got any sense? Come a rain, it'll
raise hell with my hay."

"It ain't going to rain," Morris replied. He wanted to give him a sharp
reply, but concluded not to do so. This was evidently the husband. His
romance was very short.

"Tom, won't you call the man in?" asked Mrs. Miner, as her husband came
up to the kitchen door.

"No, call 'im yourself. You've got a gullet."

Mrs. Miner's face clouded a little, but she composed herself. "Morty,
run out and tell the carpenter to come to dinner."

"Boss is in a temper," Morris thou