rive her away?"

A bell at the end of a pole at the kitchen door rang furiously. There
came an answering shout from the lake across the meadow. "You've earned
your supper," said the old woman. "Yes, you bet!"

CHAPTER II.

LIKED HIM.

Summer was just opening, and there were not many boarders at Mrs.
Stuvic's house. But the posting of a railway time-card in the
dining-room showed that everything was in readiness. A cook had come
from the city to set up her temper against the slouching impudence of
the hired man, and an Irish girl stood ready to play favorites at the
table. Mrs. Stuvic gave the stranger a seat at the head of the table,
and three tired women--hens, worn out with clucking to their boisterous
broods--began a whispered comment upon him. One, with a paper novel
lying beside her plate, said that he was fiercely handsome. Mrs. Stuvic
sat down near him.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Milford," he answered, and the woman with the novel seemed pleased with
the sound.

"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Stuvic, as if she had divined as much, "but
your other name. I can't remember outlandish names."

"William."

"Yes, Bill," she said. "Well, Bill, you hinted you wanted work."

The woman with the novel withdrew her attention. Milford shot a glance
at her. "Yes," he replied. "The man you say is the biggest liar that
ever trod leather told me that you had a farm to rent."

"Well, land sakes! when did he take to tellin' the truth? But just keep
still now and say nothin'. Don't say a word, but keep still, and after
supper I'll show you somethin'."

A red-headed boy, the natural incumbrance of the woman with the novel,
snorted over his plate, and the old woman set her teeth on edge and
looked hard at him. "Yes, well, now what's the matter with you? Who told
you to break out?"

"Eat plenty of supper, Bobbie, or you'll be hungry before bed-time,"
said the mother. "He hasn't had much appetite lately," she added, and
the boy tried to look pitiful. Mrs. Stuvic cleared her throat, and under
her breath muttered "Calf." The mother looked at Milford. "I beg your
pardon," she said, "but are you related to the Milfords that live down
in Peoria County?"

"I think not, madam," Milford answered.

"They are such nice people," the woman went on; "distant relatives of
mine. Sit up straight, Bobbie. One of the boys has made quite a name as
a lawyer--Alfred, I think. And I hear that the daughter, Julia, is about
to be