rs, and she routed lassitude and
indifference wherever she came. She could not be negative or perfunctory
about anything. Her enthusiasm, and her violent likes and dislikes,
asserted themselves in all the everyday occupations of life. Wash-day
was interesting, never dreary, at the Harlings'. Preserving-time was a
prolonged festival, and house-cleaning was like a revolution. When
Mrs. Harling made garden that spring, we could feel the stir of her
undertaking through the willow hedge that separated our place from hers.

Three of the Harling children were near me in age. Charley, the only
son--they had lost an older boy--was sixteen; Julia, who was known as
the musical one, was fourteen when I was; and Sally, the tomboy with
short hair, was a year younger. She was nearly as strong as I, and
uncannily clever at all boys' sports. Sally was a wild thing, with
sunburned yellow hair, bobbed about her ears, and a brown skin, for she
never wore a hat. She raced all over town on one roller skate, often
cheated at 'keeps,' but was such a quick shot one couldn't catch her at
it.

The grown-up daughter, Frances, was a very important person in our
world. She was her father's chief clerk, and virtually managed his
Black Hawk office during his frequent absences. Because of her unusual
business ability, he was stern and exacting with her. He paid her a
good salary, but she had few holidays and never got away from her
responsibilities. Even on Sundays she went to the office to open the
mail and read the markets. With Charley, who was not interested in
business, but was already preparing for Annapolis, Mr. Harling was very
indulgent; bought him guns and tools and electric batteries, and never
asked what he did with them.

Frances was dark, like her father, and quite as tall. In winter she
wore a sealskin coat and cap, and she and Mr. Harling used to walk home
together in the evening, talking about grain-cars and cattle, like two
men. Sometimes she came over to see grandfather after supper, and her
visits flattered him. More than once they put their wits together to
rescue some unfortunate farmer from the clutches of Wick Cutter, the
Black Hawk money-lender. Grandfather said Frances Harling was as good a
judge of credits as any banker in the county. The two or three men who
had tried to take advantage of her in a deal acquired celebrity by their
defeat. She knew every farmer for miles about: how much land he had
under cultivation, how ma