o look after the chickens,
and make some biscuits. After spending 'most all the day it's time you
did something."

Helen drew a long breath. She wanted to go out to the old apple tree to
dream and plan. But Aunt Jane didn't consider anything real work outside
of housekeeping and earning money, though Helen had been up since five
in the morning, and very busy with chores before she went to help adorn
the schoolroom.

Sam, who had been inducted into farming two years before, was out in the
field mowing with father and the man. Nathan, next in age, was most
enthusiastic about the good time they had, only if there'd been a treat
like a Sunday School picnic!

"Do stop!" said his mother, "I'm tired and sick of all this school
stuff. Go out and bring in a good basket of wood, or you won't have any
chicken potpie for supper."

Helen hung up her frock, and put on the faded gingham and a checked
apron, and kept busy right along. 'Reely helped shell peas; Fan and Lou
were out playing.

"It's splendid that there isn't any more school," said Fan. "We can just
play and play and play."

The big girl inside was sorry enough there was no more school. Somehow
Aunt Jane's voice rasped her terribly this afternoon. Two whole months
of it! A shudder ran all over her.

There was a savory fragrance through the house presently. Helen tried to
remember everything that went on the table, though she was repeating
snatches of verses to herself. Then Jenny came up the path, stood her
umbrella in the corner, gave her hat a toss that landed it on a stand
under the glass, that Helen had just cleared up, and dropped into a
rocking chair.

"It's been hot to-day, now I tell you;" she said. "Well, did your
fandango go off to suit, Helen?"

"I shouldn't call it fandango," the girl replied.

"Oh, well, what's in a name! Now I'll bet you can't tell what smart chap
said that!"

"Shakspeare."

"Did he really? I suppose it's always safe to tack his name to
everything;" and Jenny laughed. The word buxom could be justly applied
to her. Her two long walks, and her day in the factory, did not seem to
wear on her. Her color was rather high, her eyes and hair dark, her
voice untrained, and everything about her commonplace.

"Go and blow the horn," said Aunt Jane to Helen.

"Did you go, mother? Was it anything worth while?" asked the daughter.

"Oh, well, so, so. Mr. Warfield seemed very proud of his pupils. Yes,
the singing was good. Harry Lane ha