"Put her in the shed."

"No, I think I'll be toddling. My missus says I was to give you her
compliments, Mrs. Taylor, and she'll be round to-morrow to see if
there's anything you want."

"That's very kind of her. Thank you very much."

"Sid lives where you can see that light just about a mile from here,
Nora," explained Frank. "Mrs. Sharp'll be able to help you a lot at
first."

"Oh, well, we've been here for thirteen years and we know the ways of
the country by now," deprecated Mr. Sharp.

"Nora's about as green as a new dollar bill, I guess."

"I fear that's too true," Nora admitted smilingly.

"There's a lot you can't be expected to know at first," protested their
neighbor. "I'll say good night, then, and good luck."

"Well, good night then, Sid, if you _won't_ stay. And say, it was real
good of you to come and fetch us in the rig."

"Oh, that's all right. Good night to you, Mrs. Taylor."

"Goodnight."

Pulling his cap well down over his ears, Mr. Sharp took his departure.
In the silence they could hear him drive away.

Nora went over to the stove again and made a pretense of examining the
fire, conscious all the time that her husband was looking at her
intently.

"I guess it must seem funny to you to hear him call you Mrs. Taylor,
eh?"

"No. He isn't the first person to do so. The clergyman's wife did, you
remember."

"That's so. How are you getting on with that fire?"

"All right."

"I guess I'll get some water; I'll only be a few minutes."

He took a pail and went out. Nora could hear him pumping down in the
yard. Getting up hurriedly from her knees before the stove, she took up
the lamp and held it high above her head.

This untidy, comfortless, bedraggled room was now hers, her home! She
would not have believed that any human habitation could be so hopelessly
dreary.

The walls were not even sealed, as at the brother's. Tacked, here and
there, against the logs were pictures cut from illustrated papers,
unframed, just as they were. The furniture, with the exception of the
inevitable rocking-chair, worn and shabby from hard use, had apparently
been made by Frank, himself, out of old packing boxes. The table had
been fashioned by the same hand out of similar materials. On a shelf
over the rusty stove stood a few battered pots and pans; evidently the
entire kitchen equipment. There were two doors, one by which she had
entered; the other, leading supposedly into another room. The one wind