ul was beginning to feel the warmth of friendship in
these two half-savage servants. Even without Ward, her home-coming was
not absolutely cheerless, after all.

"Well, we make out to keep things going," John announced pridefully.
"We got leetle bad luck, not much. One heifer, she die--blackleg.
Four pigs, they froze--leetle fellers. I save the rest, all right.
Ole Mooley, she goin' have a calf purty queeck now. I got her in
leetle shed by hog-pen. Looks like it storm, all right."

"Felt like it, too." Billy Louise made an effort to get back into the
old channels of thought. "We'll milk old Mooley, John; I feel as if I
could live on cream and milk for the next five years. You ought to see
the watery stuff they call milk in Boise! Star must be pretty near dry
now, isn't she?"

"Purty near." John's voice was beginning to ooze the comfort that
warmth was giving his big body. "She give two quart, mebby. Spot, she
give leetle more. I got that white hog fat. I kill him any time now
you say."

"If it doesn't storm, you might kill him to-morrow or next day, John.
I'll take a roast up to Marthy when I go. I'll go in a day or two."
She glanced toward the kitchen end of the long room. Phoebe was busy
in the pantry with the door shut. "Have you seen or heard anything of
Ward lately?" she asked carelessly.

"No. I ain't seen Ward for long time. I thought mebbe he be down long
time ago. He ain't come." John shifted a little farther from the
blaze and stood teetering comfortably upon the balls of his feet, like
a bear. "Mebbe he's gone out other way to work."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, he don't say nothin' las' time he come. That's--" John rolled his
black eyes seekingly at the farther wall while he counted mentally the
weeks. "I guess that mus' be fo' or five weeks now. Charlie Fox, he
come las' week."

"John, you better kill a chicken for Billy Louise. I bet she ain't had
no chicken since she's gone." Phoebe came from the pantry with her
hands all flour. "You go now. That young speckled rooster be good,
mebby. He's fat. He's fightin' all the chickens, anyway."

"All right. I kill him." John answered with remarkable docility.
Usually he growled at poor Phoebe and objected to everything she
suggested.

His ready compliance touched Billy Louise more than anything since her
return. She felt anew the warm comfort of their sympathy. If only
Ward had been there also! She got up from the c