'peach,'" George whispered, as Mrs. Goodwin and Gunhild came into
the dining-room. His wife pulled at him. The boy wanted to know what he
had said. For a wonder he had not heard. His mind was among the green
apples in the orchard. George bowed to the ladies and began to tell them
about the great improvement in business. The banks had plenty of money
to lend. Real estate, the true pulse of the times, had begun to throb
with a new life. Mrs. Goodwin did not think that there had been any
improvement. The Doctor had written that money was scarce. Every one
complained of slow collections. George asked the Norwegian if there were
any sale for pictures.

"There is no sale for mine," she answered. "I do not expect to sell
any."

"Then," said George, "it's a waste of time to paint them."

"I do not paint," the girl replied. "My ambition was not dressed in
colors."

Mrs. Goodwin smiled upon her, and Mrs. Blakemore drew her husband's
attention to what she termed the bright aptness of the remark. George
said that it did not make any difference whether art was done with a
brush or pencil, it was a waste of time if it failed to sell; and
hereupon Mrs. Stuvic began to sniff as a preliminary to an important
statement.

"A man boarded with me a while last winter that could knock 'em all out
when it comes to makin' pictures with a pen," she said. "He drew a bird
without takin' his pen up from the paper, and it looked for all the
world like it was flyin'. But when that was said all was said. He wan't
no manner account. He went away owin' me. Now, what does he want to go
to Antioch for? I'd just like for somebody to tell me that."

"The man that drew the bird?" George spoke up.

"Oh, you keep still. I mean Milford."

"Probably the woman he's been working for so hard has moved into the
neighborhood," said George. Mrs. Stuvic declared that you never could
tell what a man was working for. No man was worth trusting. She knew;
she had tried them. Milford was no better than the rest of them. Why
didn't he explain himself? Why didn't he stand out where every one could
see him? She had defended him. She was getting tired of it. He had not
rewarded her with his confidence. He came a stranger and had been a
stranger ever since. One of these days he might set fire to the house
and run away.

"You shall not talk about him so," the girl declared. "No one shall
abuse him."

"Good for you," Mrs. Stuvic cried. "I've been fightin' his battles