An upright and self-controlled young woman entered, the eldest daughter, not far from thirty in age. Prudence Valentine was counted by some people rather estimable than lovable: perhaps only by those who did not know her well. Few did know her thoroughly well, however. "Bertha will come," she said, moving towards the bay window. This farm drawing room or chief sitting room was large, and square in shape, well-furnished too in a cumbrous and old-fashioned style. A huge round table occupied the centre; and ornaments were few. "Gimcrack rubbish! Made to be knocked down and broken. No earthly good!" was Mr. Valentine's verdict on such articles. "Give me a room fit for use, where one needn't be afraid to move:" and his womankind obeyed. He had always had the upper hand, in appearance. Secretly, his wife with her softer touch managed him entirely; and in his heart he knew it; but then she never frittered away strength in needless skirmishes. "Bertha will come," repeated Prue. "So I say!" echoed Mr. Valentine. "But they might want her longer, just a day or two longer at the last." "I don't think so. The girl was well days ago. They have only kept Bertha on, because they have grown fond of her." "Nobody can help being fond of our Bertha." Prue's impassive eyes gleamed a faint assent. "We will have tea ready, mother. She cannot be long now." "Don't you be too sure. Snow hinders trains," said Mr. Valentine. "Where's Wallace?" "Out in the snow with Nan, somewhere. He is as crazy as she." "Nan will catch cold." "Nan catch cold! Ha! Ha! That's good," laughed Mr. Valentine. "My dear, you'd better let your one wild colt have her way. She'll never turn into a Prue or a Bertha. Be content with two after your own mind." He threw his newspaper aside, crossed over, and stooped to kiss her brow, reverently, as if touching a creature of some superior order. The sweet eyes smiled up at him in placid response; and he strolled off, humming a tuneless tune. Deep under the surface of his rugged yeoman nature was a passion of love for this wife, who nearly forty years earlier had stepped down to his level for love of him, and had never since faltered in her wifely submission. Submission!—Yes, that was true. None the less, if she set her foot upon a thing, he had to do her will: while if he set his, she yielded, but not at all because she had to do so. "You've got a fire in Bertha's room, Prue?" "Yes, mother. Blazing." "And tea is laid." "Not made yet." "I wonder if Bertha will stay at home for a few weeks. She has earned a rest." "Bertha soon gets restless, you know." "She always wants to be helping other people." "That is natural to her. And she likes to be on the go. That is natural too." "Prue! One might almost think you didn't love Bertha." "Must love be blind? But you don't think so, mother. Bertha is right to work. We have little enough to depend on, in our future. If I could be spared, I would do something too. Perhaps, when Nan is older—"