reluctantly.
Ranch life had proved full of hardships to her. The hardships had been
intensified because it was almost impossible to secure competent
servants, or, indeed, servants of any kind. The farmer's daughters were
proud--too proud to work in a neighbor's kitchen even if they went
shabby or, as often happened among the poorer ones, barefoot, for lack
of the money they might easily have earned. Mrs. Morton was not a strong
woman and the unaccustomed drudgery was telling on her health and
spirits. Dr. Morton, on the other hand, enjoyed the open-air life and
the freedom from conventional dress and other hampering niceties.

Mrs. Morton followed her husband through the long dining room and little
hall to the square parlor beyond. He stopped in the doorway and motioned
her to come quietly. Jane sat curled up in a big chair with two fat,
limp collie pups fast asleep in her lap. She was so lost in a book that
she scarcely seemed to breathe in the minute or two they stood and
watched her.

"Well, I declare, why didn't she answer me when I called?"

"Chicken Little," Dr. Morton called softly. Chicken Little read placidly
on.

"Chicken Little,"--a little louder. Still no response.

"Chicken Little," her father raised his voice. Chicken Little never
batted an eyelash. One of the dogs looked up with an inquiring
expression, but apparently satisfying himself that he was not to be
disturbed, dozed off again.

"Chicken Little--Chick-en Lit-tle!"

"Ye-es," the girl came to life enough to reply absently. Dr. Morton
turned to his wife with a triumphant grin.

"Now, do you see why she didn't answer? She is several thousand miles
and some hundreds of years away, and she can't get back in a
hurry--blest be the concentration of childhood!"

"What is it she's reading?"

"Kennilworth. Amy Robsart is probably waiting for Leicester at this
identical moment. Why return to prosaic errands and eggs when you can
revel in a world of romance so easily?"

"Father, you will ruin that child with your indulgence!"

Mrs. Morton walked deliberately across the room and removed the book
from her daughter's hands.

Jane came to herself with a start.

"Why, Mother!"

"How many times have I told you, little daughter, that there is to be no
novel-reading until your work and your practising are both done? Here I
have been calling you for several minutes and you don't heed any more
than if you were miles away. I shall put this book away ti