l of shortbread at that
moment; then, feeling that she must say something, Blanche stammered,
"Oh, I don't know--er--have you any pigs?" She did not in the least wish
to see pigs more than any other animal, but they were the only living
things she could think of at the moment as appropriate to a farm.

Marjory laughed, but Mrs. Shaw did not move a muscle.

"Yes," she said, "we have pigs; you shall see them first if you please."

"Thank you," said Blanche; and then, thinking that she ought to try to
be polite and friendly, "What very nice wine this is!"

"Yes, it is," responded Mrs. Shaw. "I made it myself."

Blanche was somewhat abashed by the reply, and could think of no further
remark. She did not yet know that there was not a shadow of pretence
about Mrs. Shaw. Her reply had no savour of conceit; it was honest, that
was all. She knew the wine was good, because she had made it herself and
could vouch for it; therefore, why should she deny or disclaim it?

Blanche would have liked to linger in the little parlour to examine some
of the curiosities which had caught her eye. Pieces of dried seaweed,
scraps of coral, strings of queer-looking beads, and even dried and
stuffed fish, were arranged on the mantelpiece and on every available
bracket and shelf. She was eager to know where all these treasures had
come from, and how they had found their way to the Low Farm, but she did
not dare to question Mrs. Shaw. All Marjory knew about them was, as she
told Blanche afterwards, that it was said they came from "foreign
parts," which was the general term applied by the people of Heathermuir
to any country outside of the British Isles. It was said that a
mysterious parcel came regularly every Christmas to Mrs. Shaw, that she
never spoke of its contents to any one, but that the collection of
curiosities grew larger every year.

Mrs. Shaw was ready for the business of the moment, and as soon as the
girls had finished their refreshment, she led the way out of the house
into the little garden which surrounded it, where Peter and Silky were
patiently waiting for them. Silky was quite to be trusted in the
farmyard; he had paid many visits to it, and always behaved as a pattern
of propriety.

The first things to attract Blanche's attention were three pretty straw
beehives. Mrs. Shaw was proud of her honey and fond of her bees, and
seemed to understand them in some curious, sympathetic way. It was her
boast that she had never been