nvinced her that he
was basically good. Also, what to her were his wonderful drawings, sent
to Angela in the form of proofs from time to time, particularly the one
of the East Side crowd, had been enough to prejudice her in his favor.
No other daughter of the family, and there were three married, had
approximated to this type of man in her choice. Eugene was looked upon
as a prospective son-in-law who would fulfill all the conventional
obligations joyfully and as a matter of course.

"It's very good of you to put me up, Mrs. Blue," Eugene said pleasantly.
"I've always wanted to come out here for a visit--I've heard so much of
the family from Angela."

"It's just a country home we have, not much to look at, but we like it,"
replied his hostess. She smiled blandly, asked if he wouldn't make
himself comfortable in one of the hammocks, wanted to know how he was
getting along with his work in New York and then returned to her
cooking, for she was already preparing his first meal. Eugene strolled
with Angela to the big lawn under the trees and sat down. He was
experiencing the loftiest of human emotions on earth--love in youth,
accepted and requited, hope in youth, justified in action by his success
in New York; peace in youth, for he had a well earned holiday in his
grasp, was resting with the means to do so and with love and beauty and
admiration and joyous summer weather to comfort him.

As he rocked to and fro in the hammock gazing at the charming lawn and
realizing all these things, his glance rested at last upon Angela, and
he thought, "Life can really hold no finer thing than this."

CHAPTER XVIII

Toward noon old Jotham Blue came in from a cornfield where he had been
turning the earth between the rows. Although sixty-five and with snowy
hair and beard he looked to be vigorous, and good to live until ninety
or a hundred. His eyes were blue and keen, his color rosy. He had great
broad shoulders set upon a spare waist, for he had been a handsome
figure of a man in his youth.

"How do you do, Mr. Witla," he inquired with easy grace as he strolled
up, the yellow mud of the fields on his boots. He had pulled a big
jackknife out of his pocket and begun whittling a fine twig he had
picked up. "I'm glad to see you. My daughter, Angela, has been telling
me one thing and another about you."

He smiled as he looked at Eugene. Angela, who was sitting beside him,
rose and strolled toward the house.

"I'm glad to s