nes."

"Oh, you work in a glass factory?"

"Winters. Manufacturin' whiskey and beer bottles. Now we're goin' dry,
they'll be makin' pop and nursin' bottles, I guess."

"Do you help in the factory?"

"Yes, and in the office. I can shorthand and type a little."

"You must be glad when a summer comes."

"I am. In winter I can't turn around without breakin' something. They
dock you for that----"

"And that's why you sing when you can't break anythin'?"

"I suppose so. I like the open. It isn't right to be cooped up."

They were getting along beautifully and Peter was even beginning to
forget the weight of his heavy bag. She was a quaint creature and quite
as unconscious of him as though he hadn't existed. He was just somebody
to talk to. Peter ventured.

"Er--would you mind telling me your name?"

She looked at him and laughed friendly.

"You must have swallowed a catechism, Mr. Nichols. But everybody in
Black Rock knows everybody else--more'n they want to, I guess. There's
no reason I shouldn't tell you. I don't mind your knowin'. My name is
Beth Cameron."

"Beth----?"

"Yes, Bess--the minister had a lisp."

Peter didn't lack a sense of humor.

"Funny, isn't it?" she queried with a smile as he laughed, "bein' tied
up for life to a name like that just because the parson couldn't talk
straight."

"Beth," he repeated, "but I like it. It's like you. I hope you'll let me
come to see you when I get settled."

"H-m," she said quizzically. "You don't believe in wastin' your time, do
you?" And then, after a brief pause, "You know they call us Pineys back
here in the barrens, but just the same we think a lot of ourselves and
we're a little offish with city folks. You can't be too particular
nowadays about the kind of people you go with."

Peter stared at her and grinned, his sense of the situation more keenly
touched than she could be aware of.

"Particular, are you? I'm glad of that. All the more credit to me if
you'll be my friend."

"I didn't say I was your friend."

"But you're going to be, aren't you? I know something about singing.
I've studied music. Perhaps I could help you."

"You! You've studied? Lord of Love! You're not lyin', are you?"

He laughed. "No. I'm not lying. I was educated to be a musician."

She stared at him now with a new look in her eyes but said nothing. So
Peter spoke again.

"Do you mean to say you've never thought of studying singing?"

"Oh, yes," she said slowly at l