"Eat plenty of supper, Bobbie, or you'll be hungry before bed-time," said the mother. "He hasn't had much appetite lately," she added, and the boy tried to look pitiful. Mrs. Stuvic cleared her throat, and under her breath muttered "Calf." The mother looked at Milford. "I beg your pardon," she said, "but are you related to the Milfords that live down in Peoria County?" "I think not, madam," Milford answered. "They are such nice people," the woman went on; "distant relatives of mine. Sit up straight, Bobbie. One of the boys has made quite a name as a lawyer--Alfred, I think. And I hear that the daughter, Julia, is about to be married to a foreigner of considerable distinction." "I've lived down in that part of the country," said a woman with a lubberly cub in her arms, "and I know a family down there named Wilford. They have a son named Alfred, and a daughter Julia who is about to be married to a foreigner." "Wilford, now let me see," mused the mother of the red boy. "Well, I declare, I believe that is the name!" "And that," said Milford, "is no doubt the reason, or at least one of the reasons, why they are not kin to me." "Oh, you keep still!" Mrs. Stuvic cried, snapping a smile in two. "You didn't have to say that--but when you don't know what to say, Bill, say the next best thing. Yes, you bet! Oh, I know a lot, but I don't tell it all. People come here and think they can fool me, but they can't. Some of them come a turnin' up their noses at the table, when I know as well as I know anythin' that they haven't got half as good at home. We had one family in particular that was always growlin'. And when they went home in the fall I said to myself, 'I'll just slip into town one of these days, and see what you've got to eat.' I did, and I never set down to such a meal in my life--soup that looked like tea, and birds put on thin pieces of burnt bread. But if you are through, Bill, come with me; I want to show you somethin'." She put on her bonnet, and as she stepped out told the Irish girl to take Milford's bag upstairs. It was evident that her favorable impression of him extended as far as a night's lodging. They crossed the road, passed through a gate, so heavy on its hinges that it had to be dragged open, and entered a grove of hickory trees. The sward was thick. Here and there were patches of white and pink wild flowers. The sun was going down, and the lake, seen through a gap in the trees, looked like a prairie fire. They came to a broad lane shaded by wild-cherry trees. Milford stopped. "I've never seen anything more beautiful than this," he said. "You just keep still!" she replied. "Yes, and I'll show you somethin' worth lookin' at."