y from the kitchen he ingratiated himself
with Mrs. Quinn, quite won her heart, too, with his music, and was even
known to desert his work for the boon of a bit of pie.

When she was suffering from the heat of the stove, and was ready to throw
up her job and return to the bright lights of Phoenix, "Red" invariably
came around to the door with music on his lips, his shock of hair blown by
the soft wind, looking so boyish that she had to succumb to him, boil
another pot of coffee, and lay a place for him at the corner of the table.

"Be off wid yez!" she always began by saying. But the insinuating harmonica
was his only reply; and she ended by begging him to come in and play for
her while she messed with the pots and pans, and maybe found some batter
for a plate of griddle cakes.

On this particular morning, work being useless since things were going so
badly for Jones, "Red" slipped up the road and reached the kitchen door
just as Mrs. Quinn was washing up.

"Oh, so there ye be, me boy!" was her motherly greeting. "Come in, an'
maybe--who knows?--I'll find a cup o' coffee fer ye, though I'm not
thinkin' ye deserve it."

"Red" loved the odors from this fragrant kitchen. The stove always
gleamed, and when Mrs. Quinn was in good humor she was like a great light
moving here and there, dispensing warmth also. She was a monstrous woman;
but like many large people, she got about easily and swiftly. Her capable
hands were forever fluttering in the flour-barrel or over the dough-board,
and her ruddy cheeks and honest gray eyes spoke of health and good nature.
She adored Angela; and she really liked "Red" tremendously, and hoped in
the end he would win the difficult and fickle girl. But, like Angela, she
had moment when she could have shaken him. For "Red" didn't fight hard
enough for what he wanted. He was naive to the point of stupidity at times;
and women like aggressive men--even men who are capable of flogging them
into submission, deny it as they will. "Red" was gentle and mild, though
thoroughly manly. Both Angela and Mrs. Quinn would have liked to see him
live up to his fiery hair.

He beamed now at the genial cook's greeting, and took out his harmonica,
running over the full scale as a suitable answer.

"Here, sit ye down, 'Red,'" Mrs. Quinn ordered. "But first see that yer
feet is wiped off. I don't want to see no dirt along me clean floor."

She was busy with a place for him near the window, happy, as most women