eshold, Annixter took off his hat.

"Good morning, Miss Hilma."

Hilma, who had set down the copper can on top of the vat, turned about
quickly.

"Oh, GOOD morning, sir;" and, unconsciously, she made a little gesture
of salutation with her hand, raising it part way toward her head, as a
man would have done.

"Well," began Annixter vaguely, "how are you getting along down here?"

"Oh, very fine. To-day, there is not so much to do. We drew the whey
hours ago, and now we are just done putting the curd to press. I have
been cleaning. See my pans. Wouldn't they do for mirrors, sir? And the
copper things. I have scrubbed and scrubbed. Oh, you can look into the
tiniest corners, everywhere, you won't find so much as the littlest
speck of dirt or grease. I love CLEAN things, and this room is my own
particular place. Here I can do just as I please, and that is, to keep
the cement floor, and the vats, and the churns and the separators, and
especially the cans and coppers, clean; clean, and to see that the milk
is pure, oh, so that a little baby could drink it; and to have the air
always sweet, and the sun--oh, lots and lots of sun, morning, noon and
afternoon, so that everything shines. You know, I never see the sun set
that it don't make me a little sad; yes, always, just a little. Isn't
it funny? I should want it to be day all the time. And when the day is
gloomy and dark, I am just as sad as if a very good friend of mine had
left me. Would you believe it? Just until within a few years, when I
was a big girl, sixteen and over, mamma had to sit by my bed every night
before I could go to sleep. I was afraid in the dark. Sometimes I am
now. Just imagine, and now I am nineteen--a young lady."

"You were, hey?" observed Annixter, for the sake of saying something.
"Afraid in the dark? What of--ghosts?"

"N-no; I don't know what. I wanted the light, I wanted----" She drew
a deep breath, turning towards the window and spreading her pink
finger-tips to the light. "Oh, the SUN. I love the sun. See, put your
hand there--here on the top of the vat--like that. Isn't it warm? Isn't
it fine? And don't you love to see it coming in like that through the
windows, floods of it; and all the little dust in it shining? Where
there is lots of sunlight, I think the people must be very good. It's
only wicked people that love the dark. And the wicked things are always
done and planned in the dark, I think. Perhaps, too, that's why I hate
things t