to make
pictures with, and they wanted seventy cents fer a little box full.
Ain't that a mighty heap, Miss Lucy, jes' fer plain paint, 'fore it
's made up into flowers an' trees an' things? Well, anyway, I couldn't
git it, but I come home an' got me three tin cans an' took 'em
'round to Mr. Becker's paint-shop, an' he poured me a little red an'
yaller an' blue, an' only charged me a nickel, an' throwed in a
brush. Asia's painted a heap with it. I'll show you some of her
things."

It was not necessary, for in every direction Lucy looked her eyes
were greeted with specimens of Asia's handiwork. Across the
foot-board of the bed was a spray of what might have passed for
cauliflower, the tin boiler was encircled by a wreath of
impressionistic roses, and on the window-pane a piece of exceedingly
golden goldenrod bent in an obliging curve in order to cover the
crack in the glass.

"It's perfectly wonderful!" said Lucy, with entire truthfulness.

"Ain't it?" said Mrs. Wiggs, with the awed tone one uses in the
presence of genius. "Sometimes I jes' can't believe my eyes, when I
see what my childern kin do! They inherit their education after Mr.
Wiggs; he was so smart, an' b'longed to such a fine fambly. Why, Mr.
Wiggs had real Injun blood in his veins; his grandpa was a squaw--a
full-blood Injun squaw!"

Lucy made a heroic effort to keep a solemn face, as she asked if
Asia looked like him.

"Oh, my, no!" continued Mrs. Wiggs. "He was a blunette, real dark
complected. I remember when he fus' come a-courtin' me folks thought
he was a Dago. Pa wasn't to say well off in those days." Mrs. Wiggs
never applied superlatives to misfortunes. "He had a good many of us
to take keer of, an' after Mr. Wiggs had been keepin' company with
me fer 'bout two weeks he drove up one night with a load of coal an'
kindlin', an' called pa out to the fence. 'Mr. Smoot,' sez he, 'as
long as I am courtin' your daughter, I think I orter furnish the
fire to do it by. Ef you don't mind,' sez he, 'I'll jes' put this
wagon-load of fuel in the coal-house. I 'spect by the time it's
used up Nance'll be of my way of think-in'.' An' I was!" added Mrs.
Wiggs, laughing.

Ordinarily Lucy found endless diversion in listening to the family
reminiscences, but to-day another subject was on her mind.

"How is Billy getting along?" she asked.

"Jes' fine!" said Mrs. Wiggs; "only he comes home at night 'most
dead. I give him money to ride, but ever' day last week h