“I see,” I said, curtly. “Well, I presume I should thank my friends for the testimonials to my character. And I promise you that you shall not be annoyed again. Good morning, Miss Colton.” I was turning away when she spoke my name. “Mr. Paine,” she said. “Yes, Miss Colton.” “I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning.” “That is all right. You are quite welcome to be here at any time.” “Thank you. I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true, but it isn't the whole truth. I was trying to muster courage to call on your mother.” I looked at her in amazement. “Call on Mother!” I repeated. “Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing except the very best. I think I should like to know her. Do you think she would consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?” “Why, Miss Colton, I--” “Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine. And please believe that my call would not be from idle curiosity. I should like to know her. Of course, if this disagreement about the land makes a difference, if she feels resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing. Does she? Why do you smile? I am in earnest.” “I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton. The idea of Mother's feeling resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was all.” “Then may I call on her?” “Certainly. That is, if--if you think it wise. If your mother--” “Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me. I am a greater puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine. I have spoken to my father about it and he is quite willing. His difference with you is purely a business one, as you know.” Some of the “business” had been oddly conducted, but I did not raise the point. I could not reason just then. That this spoiled, city-bred daughter of “Big Jim” Colton should wish to know my mother was beyond reasoning. She said good morning and we parted. I walked home, racking my brains to find the answer to this new conundrum. It was a whim on her part, of course, inspired by something George or Nellie had told her. I did not know whether to resent the whim or not, whether to be angry or indifferent. If she intended to inspect Mother as a possible object of future charity I should be angry and the first call would be the last. But Mother herself would settle all questions of charity; I knew that. And the girl had not spoken in a patronizing way. She had declared that idle curiosity had no part in her wish. She seemed in earnest. What would Mother say when I told her? Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it. He was in high good humor. “I'm goin' up street,” he declared. “Anything you want me to fetch you from the store, Ros?” I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o'clock. “Up street?” I repeated. “I thought you were slated to wash windows this forenoon. I heard Dorinda give you your orders to that effect. You haven't finished washing them already?”