She has a grip on herself like--like--"

"Like Mr. Crozier with a broncho under his hand," interjected Kitty.
"She's too neat, too eternally spick and span for me, mother. It's as
though the Being that made her said, 'Now I'll try and see if I can
produce a model of a grown-up, full-sized piece of my work.' Mrs.
Crozier is an exhibition model, and Shiel Crozier's over six feet three,
and loose and free, and like a wapiti in his gait. If he was a wapiti
he'd carry the finest pair of antlers ever was."

"Kitty, you make me laugh," responded the puzzled woman. "I declare,
you're the most whimsical creature, and--"

At that moment there came a tapping at the door behind them, and a small,
silvery voice said, "May I come in?" as the door opened and Mrs.
Crozier, very precisely yet prettily dressed, entered.

"Please make yourself at home--no need to rap," answered Mrs. Tynan.
"Out in the West here we live in the open like. There's no room closed
to you, if you can put up with what there is, though it's not what you're
used to."

"For five months in the year during the past five years I've lived in a
house about half as large as this," was Mrs. Crozier's reply. "With my
husband away there wasn't the need of much room."

"Well, he only has one room here," responded Mrs. Tynan. "He never
seemed too crowded in it."

"Where is it? Might I see it?" asked the small, dark-eyed, dark-haired