"Oh, come with me, Ann, and let me--" Matthew wooed.

"Matt," I answered gravely, "I haven't been here twenty-four hours yet, but
when the thought of having it all taken away came to me, something in me
rose and made me rage, rage, as I did in the house. I don't know what it
is, but there is something in this low old farm-house, this tumble-down old
barn, that leafless old garden with its crumbling brick walks, and these
neglected, worn-out old acres, which seems to--to feed me and which I know
I would perish without. Oh, please understand and--and help me a little
like you did this morning," I ended with a broken plea, as I stretched out
my hand to him just as I entered the door of my barn--castle of dreams for
the future.

"Dear Lord, the pluck of women!" Matthew exclaimed reverently, down in his
throat. "I'll be here, Ann, whenever you want me, and if you say that
chickens must fill my future life, then chickens it shall be," he added,
rising to the surface of the question again.

"Oh, Matt, you are a darling, and I--" I was exclaiming when a soft voice
from out of the shadows of the barn interrupted me and an apple-blossom in
the shape of a girl drifted into the late afternoon sunlight from the
direction of the feed-room.

"I'm Polly Beesley, and mother sent these eggs to scramble with the ones
you got this morning for supper," she said in a low voice that was
positively fragrant with sweetness. Two huge plaits of corn-silk hair fell
over her shoulders, and her eyes were as shy and blue as violets were
before they became a large commercial product. Her gingham dress was cut
with decorum just below her shoe-tops and, taking into consideration the
prevailing mode, its length, fullness, and ruffles made the slim young