hat are mysterious--things that I can't see, that happen in the
dark." She wrinkled her nose with a little expression of aversion. "I
hate a mystery. Maybe that's why I am afraid in the dark--or was. I
shouldn't like to think that anything could happen around me that I
couldn't see or understand or explain."

She ran on from subject to subject, positively garrulous, talking in her
low-pitched voice of velvety huskiness for the mere enjoyment of putting
her ideas into speech, innocently assuming that they were quite as
interesting to others as to herself. She was yet a great child, ignoring
the fact that she had ever grown up, taking a child's interest in her
immediate surroundings, direct, straightforward, plain. While speaking,
she continued about her work, rinsing out the cans with a mixture of hot
water and soda, scouring them bright, and piling them in the sunlight on
top of the vat.

Obliquely, and from between his narrowed lids, Annixter scrutinised her
from time to time, more and more won over by her adorable freshness,
her clean, fine youth. The clumsiness that he usually experienced in the
presence of women was wearing off. Hilma Tree's direct simplicity put
him at his ease. He began to wonder if he dared to kiss Hilma, and if
he did dare, how she would take it. A spark of suspicion flickered up
in his mind. Did not her manner imply, vaguely, an invitation? One
never could tell with feemales. That was why she was talking so much, no
doubt, holding him there, affording the opportunity. Aha! She had best
look out, or he would take her at her word.

"Oh, I had forgotten," suddenly exclaimed Hilma, "the very thing I
wanted to show you--the new press. You remember I asked for one last
month? This is it. See, this is how it works. Here is where the curds
go; look. And this cover is screwed down like this, and then you work
the lever this way." She grasped the lever in both hands, throwing her
weight upon it, her smooth, bare arm swelling round and firm with the
effort, one slim foot, in its low shoe set off with the bright, steel
buckle, braced against the wall.

"My, but that takes strength," she panted, looking up at him and
smiling. "But isn't it a fine press? Just what we needed."

"And," Annixter cleared his throat, "and where do you keep the cheeses
and the butter?" He thought it very likely that these were in the cellar
of the dairy.

"In the cellar," answered Hilma. "Down here, see?" She raised the flap