d so full of history, so vocal of the
tragic expedients to which men on the prairie must turn. It seemed
pathetic. It brought a lump into my throat. Yet that Joseph's Coat of
metal was a neatly done bit of work. All it needed was a coat of paint
or two, and it would look less like a crazy-quilt solidified into a
homestead. And I suddenly remembered Dinky-Dunk's question called out to
Olie from the car-end--and I knew he'd hurried off a message to have
that telltale tinning-job painted over before I happened to clap eyes on
it.

As Olie had disappeared from the scene and was nowhere to be found, I
went in and got my own breakfast. It was supper over again, only I
scrambled my eggs instead of frying them. And all the while I was eating
that meal I studied those shack-walls and made mental note of what
should be changed and what should be done. There was so much, that it
rather overwhelmed me. I sat at the table, littered with its dirty
dishes, wondering where to begin. And then the endless vista of it all
suddenly opened up before me. I became nervously conscious of the
unbroken silence about me, and I realized how different this new life
must be from the old. It seemed like death itself, and it got a strangle
hold on my nerves, and I knew I was going to make a fool of myself the
very first morning in my new home, in my home and Dinky-Dunk's. But I
refused to give in. I did something which startled me a little,
something which I had not done for years. I got down on my knees beside
that plain wooden chair and prayed to God. I asked Him to give me
strength to keep me from being a piker and make me a wife worthy of the
man who loved me, and lead me into the way of bringing happiness to the
home that was to be ours. Then I rolled up my sleeves, tied a face towel
over my head and went to work.

It was a royal cleaning-out, I can tell you. In the afternoon I had Olie
down on all fours scrubbing the floor. When he had washed the windows I
had him get a garden rake and clear away the rubbish that littered the
dooryard. I draped chintz curtains over the windows, and had Olie nail
two shelves in a packing-box and then carry it into my boudoir behind
the drop-curtain. Over this box I tacked fresh chintz (for the shack did
not possess so feminine a thing as a dresser) and on it put my
folding-mirror and my Tiffany traveling-clock and all my foolish
shimmery silver toilet articles. Then I tacked up photographs and
magazine-prints a