Mrs. Van Dorn and Laura were sitting in the gallery, work-baskets by their sides. Both looked restfully cool and content. Laura’s neat muslin gown was fresh and crisp; a tidy little apron protected it. Her brown hair was smoothly arranged and when she lifted her clear gray eyes to see who entered, a smile broke over her face which made her fairly pretty. Every one said that Laura’s smile was her greatest charm and indeed it did so light up an otherwise rather plain face that one forgot her nose was large, her complexion far from good and her chin sharp.
“You did get here,” she said, jumping up and coming forward. “I told Blythe you had promised. Where is he? Putting up the horses?”
“No; we staked them out ourselves.”
“Why, didn’t he meet you? He said he was going over for you.”
“We stopped at Hannah Maria’s for a few minutes, and that is how he must have missed us.”
“Too bad,” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “I am sorry you missed an escort. Come in, girls, and cool off. Ellen will be here in a minute, Christine. Isn’t it real summer weather to-day? I suppose at home the roses are only beginning to bloom, and see what an array of flowers we have for May. The prairie is fairly carpeted. Did Hannah Maria have any gossip for you?”
“No. She appeared to be in rather a pensive mood,” said Christine. “I often wonder what she thinks about as she sits there by the hour with her snuff stick.”
“Such an unpleasant habit,” remarked Mrs. Van Dorn. “I never knew any one addicted to it till I came down here, and as for the way men use tobacco it is simply beyond expression. Henry was actually forced to build a man’s room and a separate gallery, for we could not give up this one; it would not have been decent at the end of a week. How do you stand it?”
“We don’t have much trouble,” said Christine. “The men generally stay out of doors in summer and in winter they take themselves to the man’s room, so only our particular acquaintances expect to be received in the gallery. Ah, there comes Ellen. I want to see her chickens.” And Christine joined Mrs. Wilkinson in the yard. The lot surrounding the house was penned off into small and large enclosures, shaded by trees; a vegetable garden was in the height of its glory, and in the chicken yard clucked and cackled so large a number of hens as spoke well for the family supply of eggs and poultry.
“I can’t see why Blythe doesn’t come,” said Mrs. Van Dorn to Alison. “I am sure he has had time to go and come back.”