It was a crisp autumn evening, just cold enough to make one glad to quit
playing tag in the yard, and retreat into the kitchen. We had begun to
roll popcorn balls with syrup when we heard a knock at the back door, and
Tony dropped her spoon and went to open it.
A plump, fair-skinned girl was standing in the doorway. She looked demure
and pretty, and made a graceful picture in her blue cashmere dress and
little blue hat, with a plaid shawl drawn neatly about her shoulders and a
clumsy pocket-book in her hand.
`Hello, Tony. Don't you know me?' she asked in a smooth, low voice,
looking in at us archly.
Antonia gasped and stepped back.
`Why, it's Lena! Of course I didn't know you, so dressed up!'
Lena Lingard laughed, as if this pleased her. I had not recognized her for
a moment, either. I had never seen her before with a hat on her head--or
with shoes and stockings on her feet, for that matter. And here she was,
brushed and smoothed and dressed like a town girl, smiling at us with
perfect composure.
`Hello, Jim,' she said carelessly as she walked into the kitchen and looked
about her. `I've come to town to work, too, Tony.'
`Have you, now? Well, ain't that funny!' Antonia stood ill at ease, and
didn't seem to know just what to do with her visitor.
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