es
care that Tiny doesn't grow too miserly. 'If there's anything I can't
stand,' she said to me in Tiny's presence, 'it's a shabby rich woman.'
Tiny smiled grimly and assured me that Lena would never be either shabby
or rich. 'And I don't want to be,' the other agreed complacently.

Lena gave me a cheerful account of Antonia and urged me to make her a
visit.

'You really ought to go, Jim. It would be such a satisfaction to her.
Never mind what Tiny says. There's nothing the matter with Cuzak. You'd
like him. He isn't a hustler, but a rough man would never have suited
Tony. Tony has nice children--ten or eleven of them by this time, I
guess. I shouldn't care for a family of that size myself, but somehow
it's just right for Tony. She'd love to show them to you.'

On my way East I broke my journey at Hastings, in Nebraska, and set off
with an open buggy and a fairly good livery team to find the Cuzak farm.
At a little past midday, I knew I must be nearing my destination. Set
back on a swell of land at my right, I saw a wide farm-house, with a red
barn and an ash grove, and cattle-yards in front that sloped down to the
highroad. I drew up my horses and was wondering whether I should drive
in here, when I heard low voices. Ahead of me, in a plum thicket beside
the road, I saw two boys bending over a dead dog. The little one, not
more than four or five, was on his knees, his hands folded, and his
close-clipped, bare head drooping forward in deep dejection. The other
stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and was comforting him in
a language I had not heard for a long while. When I stopped my horses
opposite them, the older boy took his brother by the hand and came
toward me. He, too, looked grave. This was evidently a sad afternoon for
them.

'Are you Mrs. Cuzak's boys?' I asked.

The younger one did not look up; he was submerged in his own feelings,
but his brother met me with intelligent grey eyes. 'Yes, sir.'

'Does she live up there on the hill? I am going to see her. Get in and
ride up with me.'

He glanced at his reluctant little brother. 'I guess we'd better walk.
But we'll open the gate for you.'

I drove along the side-road and they followed slowly behind. When I
pulled up at the windmill, another boy, barefooted and curly-headed, ran
out of the barn to tie my team for me. He was a handsome one, this chap,
fair-skinned and freckled, with red cheeks and a ruddy pelt as thick as
a lamb's wool, growing do