e down."

Wyllard laughed. "It won't until after supper, anyway. There are two
more rows of furrows still to do."

"I suppose that is a hint," and Mrs. Hastings glanced at Agatha when
the waggon jolted on.

"That man," she said, "is a great favourite of mine. For one thing,
he's fastidious, though he's fortunately very far from perfect in some
respects. He has a red-hot temper, which now and then runs away with
him."

"What do you mean by fastidious?"

"It's a little difficult to define, but I certainly don't mean
pernicketty. Of course, there is a fastidiousness which makes one
shrink from unpleasant things, but Harry's is the other kind. It
impels him to do them every now and then."

Agatha made no answer. She was uneasily conscious that it might not be
advisable to think too much about this man, and in another minute or
two they reached the homestead. The house was a plain frame building
that had apparently grown out of an older and smaller one of logs, part
of which remained. It was much the same with the barns and stables,
for while they were stoutly built of framed timber or logs one end of
most of them was lower than the rest, and in some cases consisted of
poles and sods. Even to her untrained eyes all she saw suggested
order, neatness, and efficiency. The whole was flanked and sheltered
by a big birch bluff, in which trunks and branches showed up through a
thin green haze of tiny opening leaves, though here and there uncovered
twigs still cut in lace-like tracery against the blue of the sky.

A man whom Wyllard had sent after them took the horses, and when she
got down Agatha commented on what she called the added-to look of the
buildings.

"The Range," said Mrs. Hastings, "has grown rapidly since Harry took
hold. The old part represents the high-water mark of his father's
efforts. Of course," she added reflectively, "Harry has had command of
some capital since a relative of his died, but I never thought that
explained everything."

Then they entered the house, and a grey-haired Swedish woman led them
through several match-boarded rooms into a big, cool hall. She left
them there for awhile, and Agatha was busy for a minute or two with her
impressions of the house. It was singularly empty by comparison with
the few English homesteads she had seen. There were neither curtains
nor carpets nor hangings of any kind, but it was commodious and
comfortable.

"What can a bachelor want with