prosperous horseman than
the typical farmer. He is a big man, a trifle taller than Mr. Harding,
but not so broad of shoulder. Either of them would tip the beam at 230
pounds.

Bishop was at the gate waiting for us, and back of him two good-natured
dogs bayed a noisy welcome.

"Come right in," he said, shaking hands with Harding. "If I'd known that
you had to walk I'd hitched up a rig and come after ye. This is Mrs.
Harding, I reckon," he said, grasping that lady's hand. "Glad to meet
ye, Mrs. Harding! I knowed that thar husband of your'n when he wasn't
bigger nor a pint of cider."

[Illustration: "At the gate waiting for us"]

"Robert has often spoken of you, Mr. Bishop," said that lady. "How is
Mrs. Bishop?"

"She's well; first-rate, thank ye. Come right in and we'll hunt her
up," he said, leading the way. "I suppose she's puttering around in the
kitchen."

I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Bishop through the window. She was hurriedly
shedding a large calico apron, and met us as we were on the steps of the
veranda. A woman trained in the conventionalities of society could not
have conducted herself better than did this American wife of an American
farmer, and I was proud of her as if she had been my own mother. She had
the rare tact of making her guests feel perfectly at home.

Bishop had disappeared, but soon returned with an enormous glass pitcher
and a tray of glasses.

"Here's some new sweet cider for the ladies," he said, pouring out a
glass and handing it to Mrs. Harding. "Pressed it out this afternoon,
and picked out the apples myself. Try some, Miss Harding. Here's a glass
for you, Miss----, blamed if I hav'n't forgot your name already,"
proffering a glass to Miss Lawrence, "but we don't mind a little thing
like that, do we."

"Indeed we do not," laughed Miss Lawrence.

"How about this?" demanded Chilvers. "What was that you said about cider
for the ladies? My friend Marshall is dying for a drink, and my throat
is as dusty as his boots. Do we walk two miles and then choke to death?
We don't want to lose Marshall like this."

"You hold your horses a minute," grinned Bishop. "The ladies like sweet
cider, God bless 'em, and I made this for them. If any of you fellows
would like to try some real cider, the best that ever was raised in this
State, come on and follow me. I reckon the ladies have seen all they
want to of you for a while. Come on; I'll show you some cider that is
cider."

He led us around th