"Didn't he ask you what colour to put on it?" the mother asked, fishing the shovel out of the rubbish collected behind the rusty cook stove. "Now look here, Lizzie," she added with sudden suspicion, "don't you go an' spoil him right t' begin with. You let him see that you want things your own way about th' house. If you set your foot down now, You'll have it easier all th' way through. That's where I made my mistake. I liked t' give up t' your pa at first an' then--an' then he got t' thinkin' I didn't have no right t' want anything my way." Mrs. Farnshaw filled the hungry stove with cobs and studied the subject dejectedly. "I don't get my way about nothin'. I can't go t' town t' pick out a new dress that is bought with money I get from th' eggs, even. He'll manage most any way t' get off t' town so's t' keep me from knowin' he's goin', an' then make me send th' eggs an' butter by some one that's goin' by. He makes me stay home t' watch something if he has t' let me know he's goin' his self. I don't own my house, nor my children, nor myself." The undercurrent of Elizabeth's thoughts as she listened to the spiritless tale was, "but John's so different from pa." "I reckon I'll never have no help from you now," Mrs. Farnshaw continued in the same whine. The girl crossed the room and put her arms tenderly around her mother's neck. "I'll live real near you, ma, and you can come and see me every few days. Don't let's spoil these last few weeks by worrying," Elizabeth said, her eyes opened to the longing expressed. Mrs. Farnshaw was heating the oven for baking, and broke away from the sympathetic clasp to refill the roaring stove. "These cobs don't last a minute," she said, and then turned to Elizabeth again. "You'll have th' nicest house in th' country. My! won't it make th' Cranes jealous?" "They don't count," Elizabeth answered. "I believe you think more of John's house than you do of him." "No, I don't, but I'm glad t' see you doin' so well for yourself." As she finished speaking, Mr. Farnshaw came into the kitchen. "Well, pa, how do you do?" Elizabeth said, turning toward him pleasantly. She wanted to tell him of her engagement, now that she had told her mother, and she wanted to be at peace with him. Mr. Farnshaw mumbled a curt reply and, picking up the empty basket standing beside the stove, went out of the house, slamming the door behind him significantly. "I wanted to tell him myself," Elizabeth said with a half-shamed look in her mother's direction. "I'm glad all men aren't like that." "Well, he remembers that awful thing you said about partin'----" Mrs. Farnshaw began. "But this isn't any new thing in him, ma. He's always been that way," Elizabeth objected, determined not to let her mother start on that subject to-day.