-Me make you velly nice apple tart. Miss Betty.- The Chinese cook flourished his rolling pin with one hand and swung his apron viciously with the other as he held open the screen door and swept out some imaginary flies. Lee Chang, cook for the bunk house in the oil fields, could do several things at one time, as he had frequently proved. The girl, who was watching a wiry little bay horse contentedly crop grass that grew in straggling whisps about the fence posts, looked up and showed an even row of white teeth as she smiled. -I don't think we're going to stay for dinner to-day, - she said...

-This doesn't look like the street I came up through - exclaimed Betty Gordon. -These funny streets, with their dear old-fashioned houses, all seem, so much alike And if there are any names stuck up at the corners they must hide around behind the post when I come by like squirrels in the woods. -I declare, there is a queer little shop stuck right in there between two of those refined-looking, if poverty-stricken, boarding-houses. Dear me how many come-down-in-the-world families have to take 'paying guests' to help out. Not like the Peabodys, but really needy people. What is it Bobby calls...

-There, Bob, did you see that? Oh, we've passed it, and you were looking the other way. It was a cowboy. At least he looked just like the pictures. And he was waving at the train.- Betty Gordon, breakfasting in the dining-car of the Western Limited, smiled happily at Bob Henderson, seated on the opposite side of the table. This was her first long train trip, and she meant to enjoy every angle of it. -I wonder what kind of cowboy you'd make, Bob?- Betty speculated, studying the frank, boyish face of her companion. -You'd have to be taller, I think.- -But not much thinner, - observed Bob...

a-quiver in every board and beam. The air within was full of dust-dust of the grain, and fine, fine dust from the stones themselves. Uncle Jabez Potter, the miller, came to the door and looked across the grassy yard that separated the mill and the farmhouse attached from the highroad. Under a broad-spreading tree sat two girls, busy with their needles. One, a sharp-faced, light-haired girl, who somehow carried a look of endured pain in her eyes in spite of the smile she flung at the old man, cried: -Hello, Dusty Miller come out and fly about a little. It will do you good.- The grim face of...

The mist hung tenderly over the river, too-indeed, it masked the entire Valley of the Lumano-lying thick and dank upon the marshes and the low meadows, but wreathed more lightly about the farmhouses and their outbuildings, and the fodder and haystacks upon the higher ground. But suddenly the sun flung off the bedclothes and leaped right into the sky. That long, low bank of cloud that had been masking him, melted away and the shreds of mist were burned up in a hurry as his warm rays spread abroad, taking the entire valley in their arms. Farmhouses, where the kitchen chimney smoke had been...

-Why not? Mr. Bassett won't care-and it's the nearest way to the road.- -But he's got a sign up-and his cattle run in this pasture, - said Ruth Fielding, who, with her chum, Helen Cameron, and Helen's twin brother, Tom, had been skating on the Lumano River, where the ice was smooth below the mouth of the creek which emptied into the larger stream near the Red Mill. -Aw, come on, Ruthie - cried Tom, stamping his feet to restore circulation. The ground was hard and the ice was thick on the river; but the early snows that had fallen were gone. It was the day after Christmas, and Helen and Ruth...

Up the grassy lane walked a girl in the costume of the active Red Cross worker-an intelligent looking girl with a face that, although perhaps not perfect in form, was possessed of an expression that was alluring. Neither observant man nor woman would have passed her, even in a crowd, without a second glance. There was a cheerful light in her eye and a humorous curve to her not too-full lips that promised an uplifting spirit within her even in serious mood. It seemed as though this day-and its apparent peace-must breed happiness, although it was but a respite in the middle of winter. The balmy...

These slate-colored clouds, edged with pallid light, foredoomed the continuance of the peaceful summer afternoon. Not a breath of air stirred on the near side of the river. The huge old elms shading the Red Mill and the farmhouse connected with it belonging to Mr. Jabez Potter, the miller, were like painted trees, so still were they. The brooding heat of midday, however, had presaged the coming storm, and it had been prepared for at mill and farmhouse. The tempest was due soon. The backyard of the farmhouse-a beautiful lawn of short grass-sloped down to the river. On the bank and over the...