d, but across the fields, where no one
could see him. He set his telescope down softly in the kitchen shed, and
slipped noiselessly along the path to the front porch. He sat down on
the step without saying anything. Mrs. Ericson made no sign, and the
frogs croaked on. At last the boy spoke timidly.

"I've come back, Mother."

"Very well," said Mrs. Ericson.

Eric leaned over and picked up a little stick out of the grass.

"How about the milking?" he faltered.

"That's been done, hours ago."

"Who did you get?"

"Get? I did it myself. I can milk as good as any of you."

Eric slid along the step nearer to her. "Oh, Mother, why did you?" he
asked sorrowfully. "Why didn't you get one of Otto's boys?"

"I didn't want anybody to know I was in need of a boy," said Mrs.
Ericson bitterly. She looked straight in front of her and her mouth
tightened. "I always meant to give you the home farm," she added.

The boy stared and slid closer. "Oh, Mother," he faltered, "I don't care
about the farm. I came back because I thought you might be needing me,
maybe." He hung his head and got no further.

"Very well," said Mrs. Ericson. Her hand went out from her suddenly
and rested on his head. Her fingers twined themselves in his soft, pale
hair. His tears splashed down on the boards; happiness filled his heart.

THE TROLL GARDEN

Flavia and Her Artists

As the train neared Tarrytown, Imogen Willard began to wonder why she
had consented to be one of Flavia's house party at all. She had not felt
enthusiastic about it since leaving the city, and was experiencing a
prolonged ebb of purpose, a current of chilling indecision, under
which she vainly sought for the motive which had induced her to accept
Flavia's invitation.

Perhaps it was a vague curiosity to see Flavia's husband, who had been
the magician of her childhood and the hero of innumerable Arabian fairy
tales. Perhaps it was a desire to see M. Roux, whom Flavia had announced
as the especial attraction of the occasion. Perhaps it was a wish to
study that remarkable woman in her own setting.

Imogen admitted a mild curiosity concerning Flavia. She was in the habit
of taking people rather seriously, but somehow found it impossible to
take Flavia so, because of the very vehemence and insistence with which
Flavia demanded it. Submerged in her studies, Imogen had, of late years,
seen very little of Flavia; but Flavia, in her hurried visits to New
York, between h