and thus came promptly, for the horse was as eager as we, to the
capacious farmyard. A motherly woman came out from the house,
spoke to her son, and nodded pleasantly to me. There was no
especial introduction. I said merely, "My name is Grayson," and I
was accepted without a word.

I waited to help the man, whose name I had now learned--it was
Stanley--with his horse and wagon, and then we came up to the
house. Near the back door there was a pump, with a bench and
basin set just within a little cleanly swept, open shed. Rolling
back my collar and baring my arms I washed myself in the cool
water, dashing it over my head until I gasped, and then stepping
back, breathless and refreshed, I found the slim girl, Mary, at
my elbow with a clean soft towel. As I stood wiping quietly I
could smell the ambrosial odours from the kitchen. In all my life
I never enjoyed a moment more than that, I think.

"Come in now," said the motherly Mrs. Stanley.

So we filed into the roomy kitchen, where an older girl, called
Kate, was flying about placing steaming dishes upon the table.
There was also an older son, who had been at the farm chores. It
was altogether a fine, vigorous, independent American family. So
we all sat down and drew up our chairs. Then we paused a moment,
and the father, bowing his head, said in a low voice:

"For all Thy good gifts, Lord, we thank Thee. Preserve us and
keep us through another night."

I suppose it was a very ordinary farm meal, but it seems to me I