It was after supper that Genevieve said: "Now let's go out on to the front gallery and watch the sunset. Supper was too late last night for us to see much of it, but to-night it will be fine--and you've no idea what a sunset really can be until you've seen it on the prairie!" Tilly pursed her lips. "There, Genevieve Hartley, there's another of those mysterious words of yours; and it isn't the first time I've heard it here, either." "What word?" "'Gallery.' What is a gallery? I'm sure I don't see what there can be about a one-story house to be called a 'gallery'!" Genevieve laughed. "You call them 'verandas' or 'piazzas,' back East, Tilly. We call them 'galleries' in Texas." "Oh, is that it?" frowned Tilly. "But you never called Sunbridge piazzas that." Genevieve shook her head. "No; it's only when I get back here that the old names come back to me so naturally. Besides--when I was East, I very soon found out what you called them; so I called them that, too." "Well, anyhow," retorted Tilly, saucily, "I've got my opinion of folks that will call a one-story piazza a 'gallery.' I should just like to show them what we call a 'gallery' at home--say, the top one in the Boston Theater, you know, where it runs 'way back." Genevieve only laughed good-naturedly. On the front gallery all settled themselves comfortably to watch the sunset. Already the sun was low in the west, a huge ball of fire just ready to drop into the sea of prairie grass. "It doesn't seem nearly so hot here as I thought it would," observed Bertha, after a time. "Oh, it's been warm to-day, of course--part of the time awfully warm," she added hastily. "But I've been just as hot in New Hampshire." "We think we've got a mighty fine climate," spoke up Mr. Hartley. "Now, last year, you in the East, had heaps of prostrations from the heat. Texas had just three." "I suppose that was owing to the Northers," murmured Cordelia, interestedly. "Now, feel it!" She put up her hand. "There's a breeze, now. Is that a Norther?" Mr. Hartley coughed suddenly. Genevieve stared. "What do you know about Northers?" she demanded. "Why, I--I read about them. It said you--you had them." Genevieve broke into a merry laugh. "I should think, by the way you put it, that they were the measles or the whooping cough! We do have them, Cordelia--in the winter, specially, but not so often in July. Besides, they don't feel much like this little breeze--as you'd soon find out, if you happened to be in one." For a moment there was silence; then Genevieve spoke again. "See here, where'd you find out all these things about Texas--that we didn't have butter, and did have Northers?" Before Cordelia could answer, Tilly interposed with a chuckling laugh: