It was a noisy trio which swung into the lane leading to the farm house. Ma was on the front porch awaiting us. She made a quaint picture in her rusty black alpaca with her gingham apron half turned back under her arm. At her neck there was an old daguerreotype set in a brooch--probably a likeness of a child she had lost. The lack-lustre eyes were kindly, almost pensively so, and the red spots in her cheeks indicated the excitement under which she laboured. While we sprawled on the porch she bustled about for buttermilk. Boy had taken a shine to Aaih, and refused to leave him for the "one brand of milk," the virtues of which Will had expounded to the lady cottagers. Pa called out a friendly greeting from the kitchen where he was "poking up the fire" in response to orders from his wife. The odour of cooking things whetted our already keen appetites. "I had Pa kill a chicken at the last minute," the dear old lady explained, "for everybody who comes to the country hankers for fried chicken." I shot a glance at Will. Will was "a nice feeder" and I devoutly hoped his epicurean tastes would not balk at a freshly-killed fowl. It would be a sin not to appreciate the old lady's kindliness. Mentally I resolved to eat every helping if it killed me. I fear there was poor picking for Aaih after we left the table. I helped Ma with the dishes and after they were cleared away she showed me the run of the house. Later we joined the men folks out of doors and made a tour of the farm. There was something pathetic in the way they asked us to take good care of Snyder, whose mixed breed reminded one of the much advertised pickles. Old Ben, we were told, was not fast but he was trust-worthy even in the face of automobiles. Good laying hens were pointed out, but I could never remember one from the other. We made the acquaintance of Bossy and were warned that the other cow with a calf was not so friendly. We talked so long that at the last moment Ma got flustered. She came very near forgetting the home-made jelly she was taking to her niece at Kingston where they were to stay the night, going on to New York on the morrow. When at last they drove away to take the train, we followed the buggy to the end of the lane, then watched them out of sight with much waving of hands and repeated good-byes. The sun was dropping behind the peaks. Across the valley spiral coils of smoke showed gray against the blue-green hills. How calm, how serene it was! Neither spoke. Will was leaning against the snake-rail fence, thoughtfully ruminating. Presently he fell to whistling softly. I smiled. "Give my regards to Broadway, remember me to Herald Square" was ludicrously out of joint with our surroundings. Will divined my thoughts and smiled quizzically at me over his shoulder. "It's a long way from Broadway, eh, girlie?"