picture by the corner and
moving it into all sorts of positions. "That's my little girl--our
Flaxen; she can't grow so purty but what I'd know her. See that hair
done up on the top of her head! Look at that dress, an' the
thingumajigs around her neck! Oh, she's gittin' there, Smith, hey?"

"She's changing pretty fast," said Bert listlessly.

"Changin' fast! Say, ol' man, what's the matter with you? Are y' sick?"

"I'm played out, that's all."

"Darn my skin! I should think y' would be, draggin' all day, an' then
walkin' all o' four mile to the post-office. Jest lay down on the bed
there, ol' boy, while I read the letter to yeh. Say, ol' man, don't you
git up in the mornin' till you please. I'll look after the breakfast,"
insisted Anson, struck with remorse by the expression on Bert's face.
"But here's the letter. Short an' sweet."

DEAR BOYS [Bless the little fist that wrote that!]. I send my
picture. I think it is a nice one. The girls say it flatters
me, but Will says it don't [What the devil do we care what Will
says?]--I guess it does, don't you? I wish I had a picture of
you both; I want to show the girls how handsome you are [she
means me, of course. No, confound it] how handsome you are both
of you. I wish you would send me your pictures both of you. I
ain't got much to say. I will write again soon.

ELGA.

Bert looked at the picture over Anson's shoulder, but did not seem to
pay much attention to it.

"Wal, I'll go out an' shut the barn door. Nights git cold after the sun
goes down. You needn't peel the 'taters to-night. We'll bake 'em,
brussels an' all, to-morrow mornin'."

When Anson had gone, Bert snatched up the picture with great eagerness
and gazed upon it with a steady, devouring glance. How womanly she
looked with her hair done up so, and the broad, fair face and full
bosom.

He heard Anson returning from the barn, and hastily laid the picture
down, and when Anson entered was apparently dropping off to sleep.

CHAPTER X.

FLAXEN COMES HOME ON A VACATION.

It was in June, just before the ending of the school, that Flaxen first
began to write about delaying her return. Anson was wofully
disappointed. He had said all along that she would make tracks for home
just as soon as school was out, and he had calculated just when she
would arrive; and on the second day after the close of school for the
summer he drove down to the train to meet her. She di