other side of the meadow, lay the vast field which her husband was ploughing. Once in every half hour she could see him turn at the head-land, and noted how seldom he seemed to stop and rest. Napoleon Pompey was riding the off leader, and from that distance they seemed little insects gently crawling backwards and forwards across the land. Pleasant it looked too and by no means hard work. Olive determined to go out to the field one day soon and watch the process from a nearer point of view; she might indeed herself hold the plough-handles, it looked easy, she would ask Ezra to let her, she would like to learn to do all sorts of work so as to be very useful, she would—confused images swept slowly over her mind, she leaned back her pretty little head and slept in her chair. She awoke with a start. A large square figure stood in the door-way, blocking out the sunshine, and Diana, with the insane friendliness of a puppy, was trying to clamber up one of his legs. “Well, little gal, I reckon you’re ’most tired out, ain’t you?” said the big man, coming straight into the room. Mrs. Weston rose to her utmost height of five feet two inches, and tried to be dignified. “Do you wish to see my husband?” she inquired stiffly. “No, I don’t want to see Ezry. I come to talk to you a spell, and see you.” “You are very kind I’m sure,” returned the little lady icily, but the stranger did not seem one whit abashed. He took a nail-keg and sat down on it and looked about him. “Wal, now,” he remarked, nodding his head, “Ezry is real downright handy. He’s gone and got your house fine and fixed up, ain’t he now?” “It is extremely comfortable, Mr.—ah—I don’t think you mentioned your name,” said Mrs. Weston, with a snap of her black eyes. She didn’t at all relish the free and easy way in which this man spoke of her husband. “Do tell!” exclaimed the stranger with vast cordiality. “An’ you didn’t know who I was. Why, I’m Uncle David. I guessed everybody ’ud know me. There ain’t nobody else so big and awkward looking ’bout here on this prairie as me. Why, there was a man over to Perfection City yesterday, he come from beyond Cotton Wood Creek, and he said he calculated I’d be powerful useful on washing days, ’cause if they tied the clothes-line to me I’d do instead of a pole, an’ timber is mighty scarce anyhow.” Uncle David gave a long loud laugh that set Diana into an ecstasy of delight, and was of itself so joyous that, after a moment, Olive also joined in with a merry titter. She had often heard her husband speak of Uncle David, as being one of the kindest and most simple-hearted of men. Her frigid manner melted rapidly and completely. “Wal, now,” began Uncle David again, after his merriment had subsided, “how do you like our name?” “Your name,” repeated Olive considerably puzzled. “No, our name, the name of the Community, Perfection City. Do you like it?” “I don’t think I do,” replied she.