"She'll have a fit when she sees the house," he told Turkey.
"What's the matter with it?" that young man asked.
"She'll find plenty the matter with it," Angus predicted apprehensively. "We'd better clean up a little."
"Well, maybe we had," Turkey admitted.
They gave the house what they considered a thorough cleaning, which consisted in sweeping where it seemed necessary, and removing some of the pot-black from kitchen utensils which Jean had never set down on the fire. Angus eyed the rusty-red kitchen range, which Jean had kept black and shining.
"I wonder if we hadn't better give that a touch of polish," he said. "Where is the polish, anyway?"
"Search me," Turkey replied. "I've never seen any. What's the use? It cooks all right."
They could not find Jean's polish, and experimented with black harness dressing. But the smoke when the fire was lit drove them out of the house, and they let it go.
Angus drove into town to meet Jean behind a pair of slashing, upstanding, bright-bay three-year-olds, of which he was very proud. Jean had never seen them in harness—indeed they had been harnessed less than a dozen times—and he anticipated her pleasure in them, for she loved horses. He put up and fed the colts at the livery stable, had his dinner, made some purchases, and as it was nearly time for the river steamer on which Jean would arrive, turned toward the stable to hitch up.
As he turned a corner he met Garland, Blake French, and several other young men. Apparently they were out on a time, for none of them were entirely steady upon their legs. Blake French, however, was much the worst.