t. He rose abruptly
from his chair, and began to pace the veranda. Then he halted, and
looked coldly down into his brother's eyes.

"What did he say?" he demanded shortly.

Bill's eyes answered him with question for question.

"Just told me who Helen was. Said she had a sister--Kate. Said they
were farmers--of a sort. Said they'd been here five years. Why?"

Charlie ignored the question.

"That's all?" he demanded.

"Sure." Bill nodded.

Then the hardness died out of Charlie's eyes to be replaced once more
by his usual gentle smile.

"I'm glad. You see, I don't want him--around Kate. Say----" he
hesitated. Then he moved toward the door of the house. "Guess I'll get
supper. I forgot, you must be starving."

* * * * *

Kate Seton had spent the whole morning at home. The work of her little
farm had claimed her. She had been out with her two disreputable boys
around the grain, now rapidly turning from its fresh green to that
delicate tint of yellow so welcome to the farmer. It was a
comparatively anxious time, for the cattle grazing at large upon the
prairie loved the sweet flavor of the growing grain, and had no
scruples at breaking their way through the carelessly constructed
barbed wire fencing, and wrecking all that came within their reach.
The fences needed "top railing," and Kate could not trust the work to
her two men without supervision. So she spent the morning in their
company.

After the mid-day meal, as soon as Helen had left the house on a
journey to Billy Unguin's drapery store, she sat herself down at a
small bureau in their kitchen-parlor and drew a couple of books,
suspiciously like account books, from one of its locked drawers, and
settled herself for an hour's work upon them.

The room, though not large, was comfortable. It was full of odd,
feminine knick-knacks contrived by Helen's busy hands. The walls were
dotted with a number of unframed water colors, also the work of the
younger of the two women. There were three comfortable rockers, so
dear to the heart of the women of the country. Besides these, there
was a biggish dining table, and, in one corner of the room, beside a
china and store cupboard, a square iron cook stove stood out, on which
a tin kettle of water was pleasantly simmering.

It was a homely room which had been gradually furnished into its
present atmosphere of comfort by two pairs of busy hands, and both
Kate and Helen loved it far more,