"And I am glad to see it, and suppose you are also," she answered.

"Who isn't! It has been a very severe winter."

"I think so, too. Are the winters here as a rule as cold as this one has been?" How modest he thought she was. She was dressed neatly in a satin shirtwaist and tailored skirt; while from beneath the skirts her small feet incased in heavy shoes peeped like mice. Her neck rose out of her bodice and he thought her throat was so very round and white; while he noticed her prominent chin more today than he had before. He liked it.

Nature had been his study, and he didn't like a retreating chin. It, to his mind, was an indication of weak will, with exceptions perhaps here and there. He reposed more confidence in the person, however, when the chin was like hers, so naturally he was interested. As she sat before him with folded hands, he also observed her heavy hair, done into braids and gathered about her head. It gave her an unostentatious expression; while her eyes were as he had found them before, baffling.

"Why, no, they are not," he said. "Of course I have not seen many--in fact this is the second; but I am advised that, as a rule, the winters are very mild for this latitude."

"I see. I hope they will always be so if we continue to live here," and she laughed pleasantly.

"How do you like it in our country?" he inquired now, pleased to be in conversation with her.

"Why, I like it very well," she replied amiably. "What I have seen of it, I think I would as soon live here as back in Indiana."

"I have been in Indiana myself."

"You have?" She was cheered with the fact. He nodded.

"Yes, all over. What part of Indiana do you come from?"

"Rensselaer," she replied, shifting with comfort, and delighted that by his having been in Indiana, he was making their conversation easier.

"Oh, I see," she heard him. "That is toward the northern part of the state."

"Yes," she replied in obvious delight.

"I have never been to that town, but I have been all around it."

"Well, well!" She was at a loss in the moment how to proceed and then presently she said:

"You have traveled considerably, Mr. Baptiste, I understand."

He felt somewhat flattered to know that she had discussed him with others apparently.

"Well, yes, I have," he replied slowly.

"That must be fine. I long so much to travel."

"You have not traveled far?"

"No. From Indiana to Western Kansas where we were most starved out, and then back to Indiana and out here." He laughed, she also joined in and they felt nearer each other by it.

"And how do you like it, Mr. Baptiste?"

"Out here, you mean?"

"Yes, why, yes, of course," she added hastily.

"Why, I like it fine. I'm thoroughly in love with the country."

"That's nice. And you own such nice land, I don't wonder," she said thoughtfully.

"Oh, well," he replied, modestly, "I think I should like it anyhow."

"Of course; but when one has property--such nice land as you own, they have everything to like it for."

"I'm compelled to agree with you."

"I'm sorry we don't own any," she said regretfully. "But of course in a way we are not entitled to. We didn't get in 'on the ground floor,'

therefore we must be satisfied as renters."

He was silent but attentive.

"Papa never seems to have been very fortunate. It may be due to his quaint old fashioned manner, but he has never owned any land at all, poor fellow." She said the last more to herself than to him. He was interested and continued to listen.

"We went to Western Kansas with a little money and very good stock, and were dried out two years straight, and the third year when we had a good crop with a chance to get back at least a little of what we had lost, along came a big hail storm and pounded everything into the ground."

"Wasn't that too bad!" he cried sympathetically.

"It sure was! It is awfully discouraging to work as hard and to have sacrificed as much as we had, and then come out as we did. It just took all the ambition out of him."

"I shouldn't wonder," he commented tenderly.

"And then we went back to Indiana--broke, of course, and having no money and no stock; because we had to sell what we had left to get out of Western Kansas. So since 'beggars can't be choosers' we had to take what we could get. And that was a poor farm in a remote part of Indiana, in a little place that was so poor that the corn was all nubbins. They called it 'Nubbin Ridge.'"

He laughed, and she had to also when she thought of it.

"Well, we were able to live and pay a little on some more stock. Because my brothers didn't take much to run around with like other boys but stayed home and worked, we finally succeeded in getting just a little something together again and then a real estate man came along and told us about this place, so here we are." She bestowed a smile upon him and sighed. She had told more of themselves than she had intended, but it had been a pleasant diversion at that; moreover, she was delighted because he was such an attentive listener.

"So that is how you came here?" he essayed. "I have enjoyed listening to you. Your lives read like an interesting book."

"Oh, that isn't fair. You are joking with me!" Notwithstanding, she blushed furiously.

"No, no, indeed," he protested.

She believed him. Strangely she reposed such confidence in the man that she felt she could sit and talk with him forever.

"But it is certainly too bad that you have been so unfortunate. I am sure it will not always be so. You are perseverant, I see, and 'riches come to him who waits.'"

"An old saying, but I hope it will not wait too long. Papa is getting old, and--my brothers would be unable to manage with any effect alone...." He understood her and the incident was overlooked.

"Your mother is dead?"

"Yes, my mother is dead, Mr. Baptiste."

"Oh."

"Died when I was a baby."