Christine gave her a look which a less simple girl would have understood, but Louisa, blissfully unconscious of the reason for these terrors, went on unpacking and felt that the last word had been spoken upon the subject. Christine went on murmuringly: “And I was so happy this morning and thought he would be here to meet us.” This time it was Alison who listened to her plaint, and who began to have a dawning idea that this was a real grief to her sister. “Why, Tina,” she said with some show of indignation, “I believe you are in love with Steve Hayward.” [Illustration: “CHRISTINE DROPPED HER HEAD ON THE TABLE AND BURST INTO TEARS.”] At this charge Christine dropped her head on the table and burst into tears, to Louisa’s astonishment and Alison’s distress. “Why, Tina, why, Tina,” said the latter kneeling down by her side. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t know you cared, though I might have suspected. Don’t cry, Tina dear.” She murmured her words caressingly and the little Mexican, standing by with his head to one side, assumed an expression of interest and sympathy. “Pobrecita,” he said. “Mientras mas alto es al monte mas profundio es el valle.” Then shaking his head he tried to say in English, “More high is the hill; more low is the val. The sister is so high as the hill and now she make the tear.” He wiped his eye in such a mockingly funny way that Alison had to laugh in spite of herself, and realizing that the old man understood English better than he spoke it Christine restrained herself from further exhibition of feeling and set to work with the rest. By nightfall the place began to look quite habitable. Pedro and his men had worked with a will, Christine’s tears and Alison’s smiles having been strong factors in urging on their efforts. As dusk approached the wagoners retired, old Pedro alone remaining indoors. The cows came lowing home, the chickens gathered about the hen-house; it was the hour which most strongly carried back the thoughts of the girls to the home they had so lately left. Even Louisa gave a little sigh and said: “That red cow reminds me of Mis’ Brown’s Cherry. I wonder how they’re gittin’ along.” “I think I should like to feed the chickens myself,” said Alison. “It seems kind of homelike to have something like that to do.” “And I reckon I may as well do the milking; it will get my hand in,” returned Louisa.