s a good, smart fellow, and has
done a lot of breakin' and cleanin' up since he came. What he thinks of
the other two lads I don't know--she never says, but I'd like fine to
know."

"Sure, you'll soon know then, Maggie," said "Da" Corbett, bringing in
another platter of bacon and eggs and refilling the men's plates.
"Don't worry."

In the laugh that followed Maggie Corbett joined as heartily as any of
them.

"Go 'long with you, Da!" she cried; "sure you're just as anxious as I
am to know. We all think a lot of Fred and Mrs. Fred," she went on,
bringing in two big dishes of potatoes; "and if you could see that
poor, precious lamb trying to cook pork and beans with a little wisp of
an apron on, all lace and ribbons, and big diamonds on her fingers,
you'd be sorry for her, and you'd say, 'What kind of an old tyrant is
the old man down beyant, and why don't he take her and Fred back?' It's
not wrastlin' round black pots she should be, and she's never been any
place all summer only over here, for they've only the oxen, and altho'
she never says anything, I'll bet you she'd like a bit of a drive, or
to get out to some kind of a-doin's, or the like of that."

While Mrs. Corbett gaily rattled on there was one man at her table who
apparently took no notice of what she said.

He was a different type of man from all the others. Dark complexioned,
with swarthy skin and compelling black eyes, he would be noticeable in
any company. He was dressed in the well-cut clothes of a city man, and
carried himself with a certain air of distinction.

Happening to notice the expression on his face, Mrs. Corbett suddenly
changed the conversation, and during the remainder of the meal watched
him closely with a puzzled and distrustful look.

When the men had gone that day and John Corbett came in to have his
afternoon rest on the lounge in the kitchen, he found Maggie in a self-
reproachful mood.

"Da," she began, "the devil must have had a fine laugh to himself when
he saw the Lord puttin' a tongue in a woman's head. Did ye hear me
to-day, talking along about that purty young thing beyant, and Rance
Belmont takin' in every word of it? Sure and I never thought of him
bein' here until I noticed the look on that ugly mug of his, and mind
you, Da, there's people that call him good-lookin' with that heavy jowl
of his and the hair on him growin' the wrong way on his head, and them
black eyes of his the color of the dirt in the road. They do sa