“Oh, I’m safe enough. I’m not afraid of anybody but the Indians, and they are not so troublesome about here where it is more thickly settled. I like to have you call me Agnes, Archie. ’Most everybody says Nancy.” “I know you like it.” “And that’s why you do it? Good boy. Don’t say anything to father about Humphrey Muirhead; it will only confuse him, for he will try to remember, and you know he can’t. We’ll bide here awhile, anyhow, until--” “Until I’m twenty-one,” interrupted Archie, coolly, “and then I will have a home for you.” Agnes bit her lip; she had not meant to bring up that subject. But she thought it well not to answer, and hurried on to where her father was busy. “Father, supper’s ready,” she called cheerily. “Time to stop work. Saturday evening, you know, and to-morrow we go to meeting.” “Yes, yes, lass. I’m ready,” he returned, straightening himself up. “To-morrow’ll be the Sabbath? I didn’t mind that; I’m glad ye told me.” “Here’s Archie.” “Archie?” “Yes, Archie M’Clean, Joseph M’Clean’s son.” “Oh, yes; Joe M’Clean’s son. Glad to see ye, my lad.” It was hard for him to remember Archie from time to time, but the lad never minded and always repeated his answers patiently to the often recurring questions. “Archie has brought us a nest of bowls,” said Agnes. “Where did you put them, Archie?” He produced them from where he had laid them behind a hollow stump, and they were duly admired. A nest of such bowls as Archie could make from knots of the ash tree was something of a possession, and his art in making them gave him quite a name for cleverness, for few had his accomplishment of turning them. “I’ve put up a fine sweep at our place,” Archie told them, “and you’ll be bringing your corn over, won’t you, Agnes? All the neighbors are at it, and keep it going steadily, but you shall have your turn, and I will grind all you need.” “How good and kind you are,” Agnes returned. “When the corn gets hard, it is pretty heavy work for us. The grater does well enough now while the corn is tender, for you made us such a good one. You remember, father, it was Archie who made our grater, and now he has made a sweep at his father’s, and will grind our corn for us if we take it over.” Her father nodded thoughtfully, not being quite sure of himself. He remembered the grater in daily use to prepare the meal for the family, but the maker of the crude little implement was not so familiar an object.