ed over his shoulder at his wife as if he
might hopefully suppose she had come to the end of her questions, but she
gave no sign of encouraging him to start on their way again.

"That your brotha, too?" she asked the girl.

"Yes'm. He's the oldest of the boys; he's next to me."

"I don't know," said Mrs. Lander thoughtfully, "as I noticed how many
boys there were, or how many girls."

"I've got two sistas, and three brothas, 'm," said the girl, always
smiling sweetly. She now emerged from the shelter of the door, and Mrs.
Lander perceived that the slight movements of such parts of her person as
had been evident beyond its edge were the effects of some endeavor at
greater presentableness. She had contrived to get about her an overskirt
which covered the rent in her frock, and she had got a pair of shoes on
her feet. Stockings were still wanting, but by a mutual concession of her
shoe-tops and the border of her skirt, they were almost eliminated from
the problem. This happened altogether when the girl sat down on the
threshold, and got herself into such foreshortening that the eye of Mrs.
Lander in looking down upon her could not detect their absence. Her
little head then showed in the dark of the doorway like a painted head
against its background.

"You haven't been livin' here a great while, by the looks," said Mrs.
Lander. "It don't seem to be clea'ed off very much."

"We've got quite a ga'den-patch back of the house," replied the girl,
"and we should have had moa, but fatha wasn't very well, this spring;
he's eva so much better than when we fust came he'e."

"It has, the name of being a very healthy locality," said Mrs. Lander,
somewhat discontentedly, "though I can't see as it's done me so very much
good, yit. Both your payrints livin'?"

"Yes'm. Oh, yes, indeed!"

"And your mother, is she real rugged? She need to be, with such a flock
of little ones!"

"Yes, motha's always well. Fatha was just run down, the doctas said, and
ought to keep more in the open air. That's what he's done since he came
he'e. He helped a great deal on the house and he planned it all out
himself."

"Is he a ca'penta?" asked Mrs. Lander.

"No'm; but he's--I don't know how to express it--he likes to do every
kind of thing."

"But he's got some business, ha'n't he?" A shadow of severity crept over
Mrs. Lander's tone, in provisional reprehension of possible
shiftlessness.

"Yes'm. He was a machinist at the Mills; that's what the