giant of a fellow, with a dare-devil expression in his
black eyes and a stain of tobacco about his mouth, she drew back, and to
his hearty "How are ye, Miss Markham? Considerable tuckered out, I
reckon?" she merely responded with a cool bow and a haughty stare,
intended to put down the young man, whom Richard introduced as "Tim
Jones," and who, taking a seat directly in front of her, poured forth a
volley of conversation, calling Richard sometimes "Dick," sometimes
"Markham," but oftener "Squire," as he had learned to do when Richard
was justice of the peace in Olney. Melinda, too, or "Melind," was
mentioned as having been over to the "Squire's house helping the old
lady to fix up a little," and then Ethelyn knew that the "savage" was
no other than brother to Abigail Jones, deceased. The discovery was not
a pleasant one, and did not tend to smooth her ruffled spirits or lessen
the feeling of contempt for Western people in general, and Richard's
friends in particular, which had been growing in her heart ever since
the Eastern world was left behind and she had been fairly launched upon
the great prairies of the Mississippi Valley. Richard was a prince
compared with the specimens she had seen, though she did wonder that he
should be so familiar with them, calling them by their first names, and
even bandying jokes with the terrible Tim Jones spitting his tobacco
juice all over the car floor and laughing so loudly at all the "Squire"
said. It was almost too dreadful to endure, and Ethelyn's head was
beginning to ache frightfully when the long train came to a pause, and
the conductor, who also knew Judge Markham, and called him "Dick,"
screamed through the open door "O-l-ney!"

Ethelyn was at home at last.

CHAPTER VI

MRS. MARKHAM'S WAYS

They were very peculiar, and no one knew this better than Mrs. Jones and
her daughter Melinda, sister and mother to the deceased Abigail and the
redoubtable Tim. Naturally bright and quick-witted, Melinda caught
readily at any new improvement, and the consequence was that the Jones
house bore unmistakable signs of having in it a grown-up daughter whose
new ideas of things kept the old ideas from rusting. After Melinda came
home from boarding-school the Joneses did not set the table in the
kitchen close to the hissing cook stove, but in the pleasant dining
room, where there gradually came to be crocheted tidies on the backs of
the rocking-chairs, and crayon sketches on the wall, and