y, and I am going to the
little town where you lived. Do you remember all about it?'

'Jim,' she said earnestly, 'if I was put down there in the middle of
the night, I could find my way all over that little town; and along the
river to the next town, where my grandmother lived. My feet remember all
the little paths through the woods, and where the big roots stick out to
trip you. I ain't never forgot my own country.'

There was a crackling in the branches above us, and Lena Lingard peered
down over the edge of the bank.

'You lazy things!' she cried. 'All this elder, and you two lying there!
Didn't you hear us calling you?' Almost as flushed as she had been in
my dream, she leaned over the edge of the bank and began to demolish our
flowery pagoda. I had never seen her so energetic; she was panting with
zeal, and the perspiration stood in drops on her short, yielding upper
lip. I sprang to my feet and ran up the bank.

It was noon now, and so hot that the dogwoods and scrub-oaks began
to turn up the silvery underside of their leaves, and all the foliage
looked soft and wilted. I carried the lunch-basket to the top of one
of the chalk bluffs, where even on the calmest days there was always a
breeze. The flat-topped, twisted little oaks threw light shadows on the
grass. Below us we could see the windings of the river, and Black Hawk,
grouped among its trees, and, beyond, the rolling country, swelling
gently until it met the sky. We could recognize familiar farm-houses and
windmills. Each of the girls pointed out to me the direction in which
her father's farm lay, and told me how many acres were in wheat that
year and how many in corn.

'My old folks,' said Tiny Soderball, 'have put in twenty acres of rye.
They get it ground at the mill, and it makes nice bread. It seems like
my mother ain't been so homesick, ever since father's raised rye flour
for her.'

'It must have been a trial for our mothers,' said Lena, 'coming out here
and having to do everything different. My mother had always lived in
town. She says she started behind in farm-work, and never has caught
up.'

'Yes, a new country's hard on the old ones, sometimes,' said Anna
thoughtfully. 'My grandmother's getting feeble now, and her mind
wanders. She's forgot about this country, and thinks she's at home in
Norway. She keeps asking mother to take her down to the waterside and
the fish market. She craves fish all the time. Whenever I go home I take
her cann