were busy with
shelling them. Still her eyes were very much more busy with the lovely
light and shade on meadow and hill; her glances went up and down, from
her pan to the sunny landscape. Mrs. Starling, bustling about as usual
within the house and never looking out, presently hearing the gate
latch, called out--"Who's that?"

"Joe Bartlett, mother," Diana answered without moving.

It was not the gate that led to the flower patch and the front door.
That was some distance off. Another little brown gate under the
elm-tree opened directly in front of the lean-to door; and the patch
between was all in fleckered sunlight and shadow, like the doorway
where Diana sat.

The little gate opening now admitted a visitor who was in appearance
the very typical Yankee of the story books. Long in the limbs, loose in
the joints, angular, ungainly, he came up the walk with a movement that
would tempt one to think he had not got accustomed to his inches and
did not yet know quite what to do with them all. He had a long face,
red in colour; in expression a mixture of honest frankness,
carelessness, and good humour.

"Mornin'!" said he as he came near. "How's your folks, this forenoon?"

"Quite well--all there are of us, Joe," said Diana, shelling her peas
as she looked up at him. "How's your mother?"

"Well, she's pretty smart. Mother seems to be allays just about so. I
never see the beat of her for keepin' along. You've had quite a spell
o' nursin' folks, hain't you, down this way? Must ha' upset you quite
considerable."

"We didn't have the worst of the upsetting."

"That's a fact. Well, she's gone, ain't she?"

"Who, Eliza Delamater? Yes; gone yesterday."

"And you hain't nobody else on hand, have ye?"

"No. Why?"

"Mother's took a lonesome fit. She says it's quite a spell that you
hain't ben down our way; and I guess that's so, ain't it?"

"I couldn't help it, Joe. I have had other things to do."

"Well, don't you think to-day's a good sort for a visit?"

"To-day?" said Diana, shelling her peas very fast.

"You see, it's pretty silent down to our place. That is, when I ain't
to hum; and I can't be there much o' the time, 'cept when I'm asleep in
my bed. I'm off as soon as I've done the chores in the mornin'; and I
can't get hum nohow sooner than to do up the chores in the evenin'; and
the old lady has it pretty much her own way as to conversation the rest
o' the time. She can talk to what she likes; but there ain'