the voters in a
good humor. I tell him that's all nonsense; but Olaf has a long head
for politics."

"Does Olaf farm all Cousin Henrik's land?"

Mrs. Ericson frowned as she blew into the faint smoke curling up
about the cobs. "Yes; he holds it in trust for the children, Hilda
and her brothers. He keeps strict account of everything he raises on
it, and puts the proceeds out at compound interest for them."

Nils smiled as he watched the little flames shoot up. The door of
the back stairs opened, and Hilda emerged, her arms behind her,
buttoning up her long gingham apron as she came. He nodded to her
gaily, and she twinkled at him out of her little blue eyes, set far
apart over her wide cheek-bones.

"There, Hilda, you grind the coffee--and just put in an extra
handful; I expect your Cousin Nils likes his strong," said Mrs.
Ericson, as she went out to the shed.

Nils turned to look at the little girl, who gripped the
coffee-grinder between her knees and ground so hard that her two
braids bobbed and her face flushed under its broad spattering of
freckles. He noticed on her middle finger something that had not
been there last night, and that had evidently been put on for
company: a tiny gold ring with a clumsily set garnet stone. As her
hand went round and round he touched the ring with the tip of his
finger, smiling.

Hilda glanced toward the shed door through which Mrs. Ericson had
disappeared. "My Cousin Clara gave me that," she whispered
bashfully. "She's Cousin Olaf's wife."

III

Mrs. Olaf Ericson--Clara Vavrika, as many people still called
her--was moving restlessly about her big bare house that morning.
Her husband had left for the county town before his wife was out of
bed--her lateness in rising was one of the many things the Ericson
family had against her. Clara seldom came downstairs before eight
o'clock, and this morning she was even later, for she had dressed
with unusual care. She put on, however, only a tight-fitting black
dress, which people thereabouts thought very plain. She was a tall,
dark woman of thirty, with a rather sallow complexion and a touch of
dull salmon red in her cheeks, where the blood seemed to burn under
her brown skin. Her hair, parted evenly above her low forehead, was
so black that there were distinctly blue lights in it. Her black
eyebrows were delicate half-moons and her lashes were long and
heavy. Her eyes slanted a little, as if she had a strain of Tartar
or gypsy blo