dust the parlour. Since there was not much there to dust, this did
not take very long. Olaf had built the house new for her before
their marriage, but her interest in furnishing it had been short-
lived. It went, indeed, little beyond a bathtub and her piano.
They had disagreed about almost even, other article of furniture,
and Clara had said she would rather have her house empty than full
of things she didn't want. The house was set in a hillside, and
the west windows of the parlour looked out above the kitchen yard
thirty feet below. The east windows opened directly into the front
yard. At one of the latter, Clara, while she was dusting, heard a
low whistle. She did not turn at once, but listened intently as
she drew her cloth slowly along the round of a chair. Yes, there
it was:

I dreamt that I dwelt in ma-a-arble halls.

She turned and saw Nils Ericson laughing in the sunlight, his
hat in his hand, just outside the window. As she crossed the room
he leaned against the wire screen. "Aren't you at all surprised to
see me, Clara Vavrika?"

"No; I was expecting to see you. Mother Ericson telephoned
Olaf last night that you were here."

Nils squinted and gave a long whistle. "Telephoned? That must
have been while Eric and I were out walking. Isn't she
enterprising? Lift this screen, won't you?"

Clara lifted the screen, and Nils swung his leg across the
window-sill. As he stepped into the room she said: "You didn't