kitchen looking glass, a heavy tread sounded on the stairs. The
boy dropped his comb. "Gracious, there's Mother. We must have
talked too long." He hurried out to the shed, slipped on his
overalls, and disappeared with the milking pails.

Mrs. Ericson came in, wearing a clean white apron, her black
hair shining from the application of a wet brush.

"Good morning, Mother. Can't I make the fire for you?"

"No, thank you, Nils. It's no trouble to make a cob fire, and
I like to manage the kitchen stove myself" Mrs. Ericson paused with
a shovel full of ashes in her hand. "I expect you will be wanting
to see your brothers as soon as possible. I'll take you up to
Anders' place this morning. He's threshing, and most of our boys
are over there."

"Will Olaf be there?"

Mrs. Ericson went on taking out the ashes, and spoke between
shovels. "No; Olaf's wheat is all in, put away in his new barn.
He got six thousand bushel this year. He's going to town today to
get men to finish roofing his barn."

"So Olaf is building a new barn?" Nils asked absently.

"Biggest one in the county, and almost done. You'll likely be
here for the barn-raising. He's going to have a supper and a dance
as soon as everybody's done threshing. Says it keeps the voters in
good humour. I tell him that's all nonsense; but Olaf has a head