shift the line of conversation. "What are you knitting there,
Mother?"

"Baby stockings. The boys keep me busy." Mrs. Ericson
chuckled and clicked her needles.

"How many grandchildren have you?"

"Only thirty-one now. Olaf lost his three. They were
sickly, like their mother."

"I supposed he had a second crop by this time!"

"His second wife has no children. She's too proud. She
tears about on horseback all the time. But she'll get caught up
with, yet. She sets herself very high, though nobody knows what
for. They were low enough Bohemians she came of. I never
thought much of Bohemians; always drinking."

Nils puffed away at his pipe in silence, and Mrs. Ericson
knitted on. In a few moments she added grimly: "She was down
here tonight, just before you came. She'd like to quarrel with
me and come between me and Olaf, but I don't give her the chance.
I suppose you'll be bringing a wife home some day."

"I don't know. I've never thought much about it."

"Well, perhaps it's best as it is," suggested Mrs. Ericson
hopefully. "You'd never be contented tied down to the land.
There was roving blood in your father's family, and it's come out