Nick refused to contemplate such a monstrous absurdity. He showed his teeth in a sardonic grin and, to ease his feelings, made a dash after a giddy hen who had forgotten the way to the coop and was frantically proclaiming the fact in the gathering darkness. "If that hussy," muttered Jo, "don’t stick closer to the roost, I’ll have her for dinner!" Then a light broke upon Jo’s face. From trifles, often, our lives are turned into new channels. "I declare, I’ll have her anyway! I’ll live from now on like folks." States’ folks, Jo had in mind, the easy-going summer type. "Chicken twice a week, hereafter, and no getting up before daybreak." Nick had chased the doomed hen to the coop and was virtuously returning when his mistress again addressed him. "Nick, the little red cow is about to calve. What do you think of that?" Nick thought very little of it. The red cow was a nuisance. She calved at off times of the year and had an abnormal affection for her offspring. She would not be comforted when it was torn from her for financial reasons. She made known her objections by kicking over milk pails and making nights hideous by her wailing; then, too, she had a way of looking at one that weakened the moral fibre. Nick followed his mistress to the cow shed and stood contemplatively by while Jo smoothed the glossy head of the offending cow and murmured: "Poor little lass, you cannot understand, but you do not want to be alone, do you?" The animal pressed close and gave a low, sweet sound of appreciation. "All right, girl. I’ll fill Nick up and take a bite, then I’ll be back and bide with you." The mild maternal eyes now rested upon Nick and his grew forgiving! "Come, Nick!" called Jo. "We’ll have to hurry. The little red cow, once she decides, does not waste time. It’s a snack and dash for us, old man, until after the trouble is over. But there’s no need of early bed-going to-night, Nick, and before we sleep we’ll have the fire in the stove!" So Nick followed obediently, ate voraciously but rapidly, and Jo took her snack while moving about the kitchen and planning for the celebration that was to follow the little red cow’s accouchement. It must be a desolate life indeed, a life barren of imagination, that has not had some sort of star to which the chariot of desire has been hitched. Jo Morey had a vast imagination and it had kept her safe through all the years of grind and weariness. Her star was a stove! Back in the time when her relations with Longville were growing less strained and she could look beyond her obligations and still see—money, she had closed the fireplace in the living room and bought, on the instalment plan, a most marvellous invention of iron, nickle, and glass, with broad ovens and cavernous belly, and set it up in state.