If Harry had been idle, the suspense would have been worse; but there was plenty for her to do, whether they stayed where they were for the winter or departed. The root vegetables must be dug and stored, the weeds burned, the dry wood hauled down from the grove and stacked, the asparagus bed mulched and the young trees tied in tar paper to keep off rabbits. When she had done all that and had cleaned the house, Harry felt that she could afford to take an afternoon off and go to see Isita. Though the girl had been out of her sick bed for more than three months, she was not yet strong, and for that reason Harry was doubly set on getting her away to school. She found Isita sitting on an old box in the sunshine, picking wool for a quilt. She was working slowly, steadily, but all too evidently without interest. At sight of Harry her face lighted with pleasure. "I was so afraid you'd gone for the winter!" she exclaimed. "It's such a long time since you've been up." "As if I'd go without saying good-by! I don't want to go at all until you're settled down on the flat, going to school. Has your mother persuaded your father?" Isita's head drooped. "I don't believe he's going to let me go. He wants me to work." She half glanced up and smiled rather wanly. "I can't explain. You wouldn't understand." "No, I don't understand," Harry answered. "I'd like to ask, too. Is your father here?" The words were still on her lips when Biane turned the corner of the house at a leisurely walk. "Good afternoon, miss!" he said. "You wish to speak to me?" "If you please, Mr. Biane. Isita seems to think that you can't spare her to go to school this winter. I wondered if you realized how much she wanted to go; how much she needed the rest from farm drudgery after being so sick." "Oh, she's well now, I think. So, 'Sita?" He moved his eyes to Isita and smiled the smile of a drowsy tiger. Involuntarily his daughter straightened, and a spot of color deepened in her cheeks. "Even if she is well enough to be doing chores," Harry pursued, determined to finish her argument, "she will never be fit for anything better if she doesn't go to school. She could make so much of herself if she were trained." "Trained?" The Portuguese smiled slowly, with his head on one side. "I train my girl, Miss Holliday; she need no more of that." Harry shivered. "I'm afraid we don't mean the same sort of training," she said coldly. Biane gave a profound nod. "I raise my family to make a living. I train them to mind. You onderstand? Books! Chatter! Seenging! Puah! 'Sita likes work. Better than books. Sure!" His glance leaped to his daughter. "Why you not tell miss how much you like to work, eh?" he inquired in a purring tone. Isita watched him with fascinated eyes. She was white as tallow. Nevertheless, she smiled, and her dry lips shaped the words: "Yes. I like to work. Truly." Biane turned back to Harry. "You see? I t'ank you all same for your politeness."