moments of life, trivialities become dwarfed and
ludicrous, and the burden of such occasions is on the woman.

"So you've taken to farming," she said, "isn't it about haying time?"

He laughed.

"We begin next week. And you--you've come back in season for it. I hope
that your mother is better."

"Yes," replied Victoria, simply, "the baths helped her. But I'm glad to
get back,--I like my own country so much better,--and especially this
part of it," she added. "I can bear to be away from New York in the
winter, but not from Fairview in the summer."

At this instant Mr. Jenney appeared at the barn door bearing a huge
green umbrella.

"Come over to the house--Mis' Jenney is expectin' you," he said.

Victoria hesitated. To refuse would be ungracious; moreover, she could
risk no misinterpretation of her acts, and she accepted. Mrs. Jenney met
her on the doorstep, and conducted her into that sanctum reserved for
occasions, the parlour, with its Bible, its flat, old-fashioned piano,
its samplers, its crayon portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Jenney after their
honeymoon; with its aroma that suggested Sundays and best manners. Mrs.
Jenney, with incredible rapidity (for her figure was not what it had
been at the time of the crayon portrait), had got into a black dress,
over which she wore a spotless apron. She sat in the parlour with her
guest until Mr. Jenney reappeared with shining face and damp hair.

"You'll excuse me, my dear," said Mrs. Jenney, "but the supper's on the
stove, and I have to run out now and then."

Mr. Jenney was entertaining. He had the shrewd, humorous outlook upon
life characteristic of the best type of New England farmer, and Victoria
got along with him famously. His comments upon his neighbours were
kindly but incisive, except when the question of spirituous liquors
occurred to him. Austen Vane he thought the world of, and dwelt upon
this subject a little longer than Victoria, under the circumstances,
would have wished.

"He comes out here just like it was home," said Mr. Jenney, "and helps
with the horses and cows the same as if he wasn't gettin' to be one of
the greatest lawyers in the State."

"O dear, Mr. Jenney," said Victoria, glancing out of the window, "I'll
really have to go home. I'm sure it won't stop raining for hours. But
I shall be perfectly dry in my rain-coat,--no matter how much you may
despise it."

"You're not a-going to do anything of the kind," cried Mrs. Jenney from
the doorwa