you that she cut out of the Chicago paper once, and Leo says he
recognized you when you drove up to the windmill. You can't tell about
Leo, though; sometimes he likes to be smart.'

We brought the cows home to the corner nearest the barn, and the boys
milked them while night came on. Everything was as it should be: the
strong smell of sunflowers and ironweed in the dew, the clear blue and
gold of the sky, the evening star, the purr of the milk into the pails,
the grunts and squeals of the pigs fighting over their supper. I began
to feel the loneliness of the farm-boy at evening, when the chores seem
everlastingly the same, and the world so far away.

What a tableful we were at supper: two long rows of restless heads in
the lamplight, and so many eyes fastened excitedly upon Antonia as she
sat at the head of the table, filling the plates and starting the dishes
on their way. The children were seated according to a system; a little
one next an older one, who was to watch over his behaviour and to see
that he got his food. Anna and Yulka left their chairs from time to time
to bring fresh plates of kolaches and pitchers of milk.

After supper we went into the parlour, so that Yulka and Leo could play
for me. Antonia went first, carrying the lamp. There were not nearly
chairs enough to go round, so the younger children sat down on the
bare floor. Little Lucie whispered to me that they were going to have
a parlour carpet if they got ninety cents for their wheat. Leo, with
a good deal of fussing, got out his violin. It was old Mr. Shimerda's
instrument, which Antonia had always kept, and it was too big for him.
But he played very well for a self-taught boy. Poor Yulka's efforts were
not so successful. While they were playing, little Nina got up from her
corner, came out into the middle of the floor, and began to do a pretty
little dance on the boards with her bare feet. No one paid the least
attention to her, and when she was through she stole back and sat down
by her brother.

Antonia spoke to Leo in Bohemian. He frowned and wrinkled up his face.
He seemed to be trying to pout, but his attempt only brought out dimples
in unusual places. After twisting and screwing the keys, he played some
Bohemian airs, without the organ to hold him back, and that went better.
The boy was so restless that I had not had a chance to look at his
face before. My first impression was right; he really was faun-like. He
hadn't much head behind h