There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl's voice, as she
sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving
answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock's heart. She never had heard
that word so pronounced before and a lump arose in her throat.

"Here!" she answered, still cleaning dandelions.

"Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago," said Elnora. "He has
been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came down the
creek fishing and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me. He feels
that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he is well.
What do you think about it?"

Philip Ammon extended his hand. "I am glad to know you," he said.

"You may take the hand-shaking for granted," replied Mrs. Comstock.
"Dandelions have a way of making fingers sticky, and I like to know
a man before I take his hand, anyway. That introduction seems mighty
comprehensive on your part, but it still leaves me unclassified. My name
is Comstock."

Philip Ammon bowed.

"I am sorry to hear you have been sick," said Mrs. Comstock. "But if
people will live where they have such vile water as they do in Chicago,
I don't see what else they are to expect."

Philip studied her intently.

"I am sure I didn't have a fever on purpose," he said.