mely grace of the prairie.

She greeted me with a pleasant word, and took a seat opposite, making no
reply to the jocular comment of her boarders. It was evident that she
was not only accustomed to demonstrations of this sort, but considered
them a necessary part of her stewardship, an office which was entirely
without salary--and scantily repaid in honor.

No complaints about the scarcity of butter, or questions concerning the
proportions of milk in the cream jug, had power to draw her into
defensive explanation. At last her tormentors unable to stampede her by
noise, or plague her by petitions, subsided into silence or turned to
other matters, and we all settled down to an abundant and very jolly
dinner.

It was because the camp loved Zulime Taft that they could carry on in
this way. It was all studio _blague_, and she knew it and offered no
defense of her economies.

Most of the artists and writers in the camp were already known to me.
They were all of small income, some of them were almost as poor as I,
and welcomed a method by which they were able to spend a summer
comfortably and inexpensively. A common kitchen, and an old white horse
and wagon also owned collectively, made it possible to offer board at
four dollars per week!

The Heckman home, which the campers called "the Castle," or "The Manor
House," a long, two-story building of stone which stood on the southern
end of the Bluff, overlooked what had once been Black Hawk's Happy
Hunting Ground. It was not in any sense a chateau, but it pleased
Wallace Heckman's artist-tenants to call it so, and by contrast with
their cook-house it did, indeed, possess something like grandeur.
Furthermore "the Lord of the Manor" added to the majesty of his position
by owning and driving a coach (this was before the day of the
automobile), and at times those of his tenants most highly in favor,
were invited to a seat on this stately vehicle.

"Lady" Heckman possessed a piano, another evidence of wealth, and the
pleasantest part of my recollections of this particular visit concerns
the evenings I spent with her in singing "Belle Mahone" and "Lily Dale,"
while Lorado and his sisters sat in the corner and listened--at least I
infer that they listened--now that I grow more clear in my mind I recall
that Tillie Heckman did not sing, she only played for me; and my
conviction is that I sang very well. I may be mistaken in this for (at
times) I detected Wallace Heckman addressing