like her. My Martha's married now, and has a baby of her own. Think
of that, Jim!

"No, I never got down-hearted. Anton's a good man, and I loved my children
and always believed they would turn out well. I belong on a farm. I'm
never lonesome here like I used to be in town. You remember what sad
spells I used to have, when I did n't know what was the matter with me?
I've never had them out here. And I don't mind work a bit, if I don't have
to put up with sadness." She leaned her chin on her hand and looked down
through the orchard, where the sunlight was growing more and more golden.

"You ought never to have gone to town, Tony," I said, wondering at her.

She turned to me eagerly. "Oh, I'm glad I went! I'd never have known
anything about cooking or housekeeping if I had n't. I learned nice ways
at the Harlings', and I've been able to bring my children up so much
better. Don't you think they are pretty well-behaved for country children?
If it had n't been for what Mrs. Harling taught me, I expect I'd have
brought them up like wild rabbits. No, I'm glad I had a chance to learn;
but I'm thankful none of my daughters will ever have to work out. The
trouble with me was, Jim, I never could believe harm of anybody I loved."

While we were talking, Antonia assured me that she could keep me for the
night. "We've plenty of room. Two of the boys sleep in the haymow till
cold weather comes, but there's no need for it. Leo always begs to sleep
there, and Ambrosch goes along to look after him."

I told her I would like to sleep in the haymow, with the boys.

"You can do just as you want to. The chest is full of clean blankets, put
away for winter. Now I must go, or my girls will be doing all the work,
and I want to cook your supper myself."

As we went toward the house, we met Ambrosch and Anton, starting off with
their milking-pails to hunt the cows. I joined them, and Leo accompanied
us at some distance, running ahead and starting up at us out of clumps of
ironweed, calling, "I'm a jack rabbit," or, "I'm a big bull-snake."

I walked between the two older boys--straight, well-made fellows, with good
heads and clear eyes. They talked about their school and the new teacher,
told me about the crops and the harvest, and how many steers they would
feed that winter. They were easy and confidential with me, as if I were an
old friend of the family--and not too old. I felt like a boy in their
company, and all manner of forgotten int