The door was open into the dining-room, where Mrs. Harling sat crocheting
and Frances was reading. Frances asked Lena to come in and join them.
`You are Lena Lingard, aren't you? I've been to see your mother, but you
were off herding cattle that day. Mama, this is Chris Lingard's oldest
girl.'
Mrs. Harling dropped her worsted and examined the visitor with quick, keen
eyes. Lena was not at all disconcerted. She sat down in the chair Frances
pointed out, carefully arranging her pocket-book and grey cotton gloves on
her lap. We followed with our popcorn, but Antonia hung back--said she
had to get her cake into the oven.
`So you have come to town,' said Mrs. Harling, her eyes still fixed on
Lena. `Where are you working?'
`For Mrs. Thomas, the dressmaker. She is going to teach me to sew. She
says I have quite a knack. I'm through with the farm. There ain't any end
to the work on a farm, and always so much trouble happens. I'm going to be
a dressmaker.'
`Well, there have to be dressmakers. It's a good trade. But I wouldn't
run down the farm, if I were you,' said Mrs. Harling rather severely. `How
is your mother?'
`Oh, mother's never very well; she has too much to do. She'd get away from
the farm, too, if she could. She was willing for me to come.
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