s moment: her
short, square person planted firmly on the stool, her little fat hands
moving quickly and neatly over the keys, her eyes fixed on the music
with intelligent concentration.

IV

'I won't have none of your weevily wheat,
and I won't have none of your barley,
But I'll take a measure of fine white
flour, to make a cake for Charley.'

WE WERE SINGING rhymes to tease Antonia while she was beating up one of
Charley's favourite cakes in her big mixing-bowl.

It was a crisp autumn evening, just cold enough to make one glad to quit
playing tag in the yard, and retreat into the kitchen. We had begun to
roll popcorn balls with syrup when we heard a knock at the back door,
and Tony dropped her spoon and went to open it.

A plump, fair-skinned girl was standing in the doorway. She looked
demure and pretty, and made a graceful picture in her blue cashmere
dress and little blue hat, with a plaid shawl drawn neatly about her
shoulders and a clumsy pocket-book in her hand.

'Hello, Tony. Don't you know me?' she asked in a smooth, low voice,
looking in at us archly.

Antonia gasped and stepped back.

'Why, it's Lena! Of course I didn't know you, so dressed up!'

Lena Lingard laughed, as if this pleased her. I had not recognized her
for a moment, either. I had never seen her before with a hat on her
head--or with shoes and stockings on her feet, for that matter. And here
she was, brushed and smoothed and dressed like a town girl, smiling at
us with perfect composure.

'Hello, Jim,' she said carelessly as she walked into the kitchen and
looked about her. 'I've come to town to work, too, Tony.'

'Have you, now? Well, ain't that funny!' Antonia stood ill at ease, and
didn't seem to know just what to do with her visitor.

The door was open into the dining-room, where Mrs. Harling sat
crocheting and Frances was reading. Frances asked Lena to come in and
join them.

'You are Lena Lingard, aren't you? I've been to see your mother, but you
were off herding cattle that day. Mama, this is Chris Lingard's oldest
girl.'

Mrs. Harling dropped her worsted and examined the visitor with quick,
keen eyes. Lena was not at all disconcerted. She sat down in the chair
Frances pointed out, carefully arranging her pocket-book and grey
cotton gloves on her lap. We followed with our popcorn, but Antonia hung
back--said she had to get her cake into the oven.

'So you have come to town,' said Mrs. Harlin