"It's Hubert's business to call the girls handsome," said Laura, laughing, and handing back the picture. Polly grinned--then suddenly looked grave. "I wish he'd leave t' gells alone!" she said with an accent of some energy, "he'll mappen get into trooble yan o' these days!" "They don't keep him in his place, I suppose," said Laura, flushing, she hardly knew why. She got up and walked across the room to the window. What did she want to know about Hubert and "t' gells"? She hated vulgar and lazy young men!--though they might have a musical gift that, so to speak, did not belong to them. Nevertheless she turned round again to ask, with some imperiousness,-- "Where is your brother?--what is he doing all this time?" "Sittin alongside the coo, I dare say--lest Daffady should be gettin the credit of her," said Polly, laughing. "The poor creetur fell three days sen--summat like a stroke, t' farrier said,--an Hubert's bin that jealous o' Daffady iver sen. He's actually poo'ed hissel' oot o' bed mornins to luke after her!--Lord bless us--I mun goa an feed t' calves!" And hastily throwing an apron over her Sunday gown, Polly clattered down the stairs in a whirlwind. * * * * * Laura followed her more leisurely, passed through the empty kitchen and opened the front door. As she stood under the porch looking out, she put up a small hand to hide a yawn. When she set out that morning she had meant to spend the whole day at the farm. Now it was not yet tea-time, and she was more than ready to go. In truth her heart was hot, and rather bitter. Cousin Elizabeth, certainly, had treated her with a strange coolness. And as for Hubert--after that burst of friendship, beside the piano! She drew herself together sharply--she would go at once and ask him for her pony cart. Lifting her skirt daintily, she picked her way across the dirty yard, and fumbled at a door opposite--the door whence she had seen old Daffady come out at dinner-time. "Who's there?" shouted a threatening voice from within. Laura succeeded in lifting the clumsy latch. Hubert Mason, from inside, saw a small golden head appear in the doorway. "Would you kindly help me get the pony cart?" said the light, half-sarcastic voice of Miss Fountain. "I must be going, and Polly's feeding the calves." Her eyes at first distinguished nothing but a row of dim animal forms, in crowded stalls under a low roof. Then she saw a cow lying on the ground, and Hubert Mason beside her, amid the wreaths of smoke that he was puffing from a clay pipe. The place was dark, close, and fetid. She withdrew her head hastily. There was a muttering and movement inside, and Mason came to the door, thrusting his pipe into his pocket. "What do you want to go for, just yet?" he said abruptly. "I ought to get home." "No; you don't care for us, nor our ways. That's it; an I don't wonder."