of age, and
mistress of earth's best blessing, perfect health--how could Mary Ellen
be sad? All the earth and sky, and the little twittering ground birds,
and the bustling fowls, forbade it. The very stir of life was
everywhere. She walked, but trod as steps the wild deer, lightly, with
confidence, high-headed.

"Chick-chick-chick-chickee!" called Mary Ellen, bending over the fence of
the chicken yard, and noting with pleasure the hurrying, clacking throng
of fowls that answered and swarmed about her. "Chick, chick, chick!"

"I'll be thah t'reckly wif ther feed, Miss Ma'y Ellen," called out Aunt
Lucy from the kitchen. And presently she emerged and joined her mistress
at the corral.

"Aunt Lucy," said Mary Ellen, "do you suppose we could ever raise a
garden?"

"Whut's dat, chile--raise er gyarden? Kain't raise no gyarden out yer,
noways."

"I was just thinking may be we could have a garden, just a little one,
next year."

"Hit don' never rain ernuf, chile, in this yer country."

"I know, but couldn't we use the water from the well? The windmill is
always pumping it up, and it only runs to waste. I was thinking, if we
had a few peas, or beans, or things like that, you know--"

"Uh-huh!"

"And do you suppose a rose bush would grow--a real rose bush, over by the
side of the house?"

"Law, no, chile, whut you talkin' 'bout? Nothin' hain't goin' to grow
yer, 'less'n hit's a little broom cohn, er some o' that alfalafew, er
that soht er things. Few beans might, ef we wortered 'em. My lan!" with
a sudden interest, as she grasped the thought, "whut could I git fer
right fraish beans, real string beans, I does wondeh! Sakes, ef I c'd
hev string beans an' apple pies, I shoh'ly c'd make er foh'tune, right
quick. Why, they tellin' me, some folks over ontoe that ther Smoky
River, las' fall, they gethered 'bout hate er peck o' sour green
crabapples, an' they trade hate o' them ornery things off fer a beef
critter--'deed they did. String beans--why, law, chile!"

"We'll have to think about this garden question some day," said Mary
Ellen. She leaned against the corral post, looking out over the wide
expanse of the prairie round about. "Are those our antelope out there,
Lucy?" she asked, pointing out with care the few tiny objects, thin and
knifelike, crowned with short black forking tips, which showed up against
the sky line on a distant ridge. "I think they must be. I haven't
noticed them for quite a whi