Conditions changed rapidly in Crowheart once work actually began. The call for laborers brought a new and strange class of people to its streets--swarthy, chattering persons with long backs, and short legs, of frugal habits, yet, after all, leaving much silver in the town on the Saturday night which followed payday. Symes's domestic life was moving as smoothly and as satisfactorily as his business affairs. A lifetime seemed to lie between that memorable journey on the "Main Line" with Augusta in her brown basque and dreadful hat, and the present. She was improving wonderfully. He had to admit that. "No, sir," he told himself occasionally, "Augusta isn't half bad." Her unconcealed adoration and devotion to himself had awakened affection in return, at least her gaucheries no longer exasperated him and they were daily growing less. Dr. Harpe had been right when she had told him that Augusta was as imitative as a parrot, and he often smiled to himself at her affectations, directly traceable to her diligent perusal of _The Ladies' Own_ and the column devoted to the queries of troubled social aspirants. While it amused him he approved, for an imitation lady was better than the frankly impossible girl he had married. Something of this was in his mind while engaged one day in the absorbing occupation of buttoning Mrs. Symes's blouse up the back. He raised his head at the sound of a step on the narrow porch. "Who's that?" "Dr. Harpe." "What--again?" There was a suspicion of irritation in his voice, for now that he came to think of it, he and Augusta had not dined alone a single evening that week. "What of it? Do you mind, Phidias?" "Oh, no; only isn't she crowding the mourners a little? Isn't she rather regular?" "I asked her," Mrs. Symes replied uneasily. "It's all right; I'm not complaining--only why don't you ask some one else occasionally?" "I don't want them," she answered bluntly. "The best of reasons, my dear," and Symes turned away to complete his own toilet while Augusta hastened out of the room to greet the Doctor. Symes wondered if the installation of a meal ticket system at the Terriberry House had anything to do with the frequency with which he found Dr. Harpe at his table, and was immediately ashamed of himself for the thought. It recalled, however, an incident which had amused him, though it had since slipped his mind. He had found a pie in his writing desk and had asked Grandma Kunkel, who still formed a part of his unique menage, for an explanation. "I'm hidin' it," she had answered shortly. "From whom?" "Dr. Harpe. I have to do it if I want anything for the next meal. She helps herself. She's got an awful appetite."