o his own
work fer nothin'."

Lysander got up and carried the baby into the adjoining room, bending
his lank form from habit rather than from necessity, as he passed
through the doorway.

Mrs. Sproul, tearfully resentful of the charge of hysterics,
investigated the sleeping children with a view to more permanent
disposal of them for the night, a process which resulted in much
whimpering, and a limp, somnolent sense of injury on the part of the
investigated.

"I don't take much stock in Nate Forrester's trades," said the
grandmother, elevating her voice so that Lysander could hear; "there's
some deviltry back of 'em, gener'ly; the better they look, the more I'm
afraid of 'em. I don't purtend to know what he's drivin' at now, not
bein' the prince o' darkness, but I reckon he can wait till I do."

II.

The next day Melissa turned her gray eyes with a vague, kindling
interest toward the "volunteer barley-patch." Two or three points of
white gleamed upon it in the afternoon sun. She mused upon them
speculatively for awhile, and then consulted Lysander.

"I reckon it's the survey stakes, M'lissy," he said kindly. "Forrester's
dividin' it up, as he said. I wouldn't say nothin' 'bout it to yer maw,
'f I was you; it'll only rile her up."

Melissa looked at the field in a quiet, dispassionate way.

"The land's his'n, ain't it, Lysander?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, the land's his'n, an' a good part o' the canon, too,--all but
a little that b'longs to yer maw. But the hull thing used to be hern;
quite a spell back, though."

Lysander was hauling stones from a knoll near the house, and dumping
them on the edge of the canon,--a leisurely process, carried on by means
of a sled, of unmistakable home manufacture, drawn by one of the
dun-colored mules. Melissa was helping him in a desultory, intermittent
fashion. There was a very friendly understanding between these two
peace-loving members of the family.

The young girl carried two or three speckled granite boulders and
dropped them into the rude vehicle, and then sat down on the edge of it
meditatively. The dark rim of her hat made a background for her head
with its little billows of richly tinted hair. Exertion had brought a
faint transitory pink to her fair, freckled face.

"Did Colonel Forrester steal the land and water from mother, Lysander?"
she asked, with the calm, unreasoning candor of youth.

Lysander straightened his lank form, and then betook himself to a seat