“It does seem as if you might call me Arline,” she complained irrelevantly. “We're comin' to that--don't you worry.” “Is it--a piano?” “My lands, no! You don't need a fiddle and a piano both, do you? Man, what'd you rather have for a weddin' present?” Manley, upon the front seat beside Hank, gave his shoulders an impatient twitch. “Fifty thousand dollars,” he replied glumly. “I'm glad you're real modest about it,” Arline retorted sharply. She was beginning to tell herself quite frequently that she “didn't have no time for Man Fleetwood, seeing he wouldn't brace up and quit drinkin.” Val's lips curled as she looked at Manley's back. “What I should like,” she said distinctly, “is a great, big pile of wood, all cut and ready for the stove, and water pails that never would go empty. It's astonishing how one's desires eventually narrow down to bare essentials, isn't it? But as we near the place, I find those two things more desirable than a piano!” Then she bit her lip angrily because she had permitted herself to give the thrust. “Why, you poor thing! Man Fleetwood, do you--” Val impulsively caught her by the arm. “Oh, hush! I was only joking,” she said hastily. “I was trying to balance Manley's wish for fifty thousand dollars, don't you see? It was stupid of me, I know.” She laughed unconvincingly. “Let me guess what the surprise is. First, is it large or small?” “Kinda big,” tittered Arline, falling into the spirit of the joke. “Bigger than a--wait, now. A sewing machine?” Arline covered her mouth with her hand and nodded dumbly. “You say all the neighbors gave it and the dance helped pay for it--let me see. Could it possibly be--what in the world could it be? Manley, help me guess! Is it something useful, or just something nice?” “Useful,” said Arline, and snapped her jaws together as if she feared to let another word loose. “Larger than a sewing machine, and useful.” Val puckered her brows over the puzzle. “And all the neighbors gave it. Do you know, I've been thinking all sorts of nasty things about our poor neighbors, because they refused to sell Manley any hay. And all the while they were planning this sur--” She never finished that sentence, or the word, even. With a jolt over a rock, and a sharp turn to the right, Hank had brought them to the very brow of the hill, where they could look down into the coulee, and upon the house standing in its tiny, unkempt yard, just beyond the sparse growth of bushes which marked the spring creek. Involuntarily every head turned that way, and every pair of eyes looked downward. Hank chirped to the horses, threw all his weight upon the brake, and they rattled down the grade, the brake block squealing against the rear wheels. They were half-way down before any one spoke. It was Val, and she almost whispered one word: “Manley!” Arline's eyes were wet, and there was a croak in her voice when she cried jubilantly: “Well, ain't that better 'n a sewin' machine--or a piano?”