be more book bargains, he might venture in that direction again.

Breakfast passed without the mention of shoes. What was his mother
thinking about! She seemed uncommonly busy with cleaning an uncommonly
clean house. When Dorian came home from irrigating at noon, he kicked
off his muddy shoes by the shanty door, so as not to soil her cleanly
scrubbed floor or to stain the neat home-made rug. There seemed to be
even more than the extra cooking in preparation for Sunday.

The mother looked at Dorian coming so noiselessly in his stocking feet.

"You didn't show me your new shoes last night," she said.

"Say, mother, what's all this extra cleaning and cooking about?"

"We're going to have company tomorrow."

"Company? Who?"

"I'll tell you about it at the table."

"Do you remember," began the mother when they were seated, "a lady and
her little girl who visited us some two years ago?"

Yes, he had some recollection of them. He remembered the girl,
specially, spindle-legged, with round eyes, pale cheeks, and an
uncommonly long braid of yellow hair hanging down her back.

"Well, they're coming to see us tomorrow. Mrs. Brown is an old-time
friend of mine, and Mildred is an only child. The girl is not strong,