u. Why,
stars an' garters!" he exclaimed as he lifted her down from her horse,
"Liza Ann 'll have t' put you in th' oven along with th' rest of th'
goslins." Then he added: "Now you run along to th' house, an' I'll take
this horse in hand. I judge by its nicker you didn't stop for no dinner
to-day."

Mrs. Chamberlain appeared at the door and her husband called to her,

"Liza Ann! here's Miss Farnshaw, as wet as that last brood of chickens you
found under th' corn-planter. Give 'er a dry pair of shoes an' take 'er
wet coat off o' 'er."

As Elizabeth turned to her hostess, the old man exclaimed, "Why, Gosh all
Friday, what's happened to your horse?"

"I'm awfully worried about Patsie's foot. She slipped in the muddy road
this afternoon. Do you suppose It'll lay her up? It's a busy time and pa
needs her."

"I don't know; it's in a ticklish place. I'll rub it good with Mustang
liniment; that's th' best thing I know of. Now you run on to th' house;
you're wet enough t' wake up lame yourself in th' mornin'," he admonished,
straightening up, with his hands on the small of his back.

Having dismissed Elizabeth, Silas Chamberlain took Patsie's saddle from
her back and laid it across Old Queen's harness, taking his own team into
the barn first. Old Queen was an unsocial animal and it was necessary to
tie her in the far stall when a strange horse was brought into the barn,
as she had a way of treating intruders badly. She sniffed at the saddle
distrustfully as Mr. Chamberlain tied her up.

"Whoa! there!" he said emphatically, giving her a slap on the flank which
sent her into the opposite corner of the stall. "You needn't be s' all
fired touchy you can't let a strange saddle come into th' stall. That
saddle's carried th' pluckiest girl in this end of th' county t'day.
Gosh-a-livin's! Think of her a comin' out on a day like this, an' smilin'
at them wet feathers, as she called 'em, 's if it didn't make no
difference bein' wet at all. Now if John Hunter gets his eyes on 'er
there'll be an end of ma's board money; an' then how'll I finish payin'
fur that sewin' machine?"

In the house, after some time spent in trying to be stiffly polite to her
guest, the unwilling hostess began the supper. The potatoes were put on to
fry, the kettle sang, and Mrs. Chamberlain sat down to grind the coffee in
a mill which she grasped firmly between her knees.

"Maybe you 'uns don't drink coffee?" she remarked anxiously, stopping to
look ove