A Daughter of the Land

With the first faint light of morning, Kate slipped to the door to

find her charge still sleeping soundly. It was eight o'clock when

she heard a movement in the adjoining room and went again to the

door. This time the woman was awake and smilingly waved to Kate

as she called: "Good morning! Come right in. I was wondering if

you were regretting your hasty bargain."

"Not a bit of it!" laughed Kate. "I am here waiting to be told

what to do first. I forgot to tell you my name last night. It is

Kate Bates. I'm from Bates Corners, Hartley, Indiana."

The woman held out her hand. "I'm so very glad to meet you, Miss

Bates," she said. "My name is Mariette Jardine. My home is in

Chicago."

They shook hands, smiling at each other, and then Kate said:

"Now, Mrs. Jardine, what shall I do for you first?"

"I will be dressed, I think, and then you may bring up the manager

until I have an understanding with him, and give him a message I

want sent, and an order for our breakfast. I wonder if it

wouldn't be nice to have it served on the corner of the veranda in

front of our rooms, under the shade of that big tree."

"I think that would be famous," said Kate.

They ate together under the spreading branches of a giant maple

tree, where they could see into the nest of an oriole that brooded

in a long purse of gray lint and white cotton cord. They could

almost reach out and touch it. The breakfast was good, nicely

served by a neat maid, evidently doing something so out of the

ordinary that she was rather stunned; but she was a young person

of some self-possession, for when she removed the tray, Mrs.

Jardine thanked her and gave her a coin that brought a smiling:

"Thank you very much. If you want your dinner served here and

will ask for Jennie Weeks, I'd like to wait on you again."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Jardine, "I shall remember that. I don't

like changing waiters each meal. It gives them no chance to learn

what I want or how I want it."

Then she and Kate slowly walked the length of the veranda several

times, while she pointed out parts of the grounds they could see

that remained as she had known them formerly, and what were

improvements.

When Mrs. Jardine was tired, they returned to the room and she lay

on the bed while they talked of many things; talked of things with

which Kate was familiar, and some concerning which she

unhesitatingly asked questions until she felt informed. Mrs.

Jardine was so dainty, so delicate, yet so full of life, so well

informed, so keen mentally, that as she talked she kept Kate

chuckling most of the time. She talked of her home life, her

travels, her friends, her son. She talked of politics, religion,

and education; then she talked of her son again. She talked of

social conditions, Civic Improvement, and Woman's Rights, then she

came back to her son, until Kate saw that he was the real interest

in the world to her. The mental picture she drew of him was

peculiar. One minute Mrs. Jardine spoke of him as a man among

men, pushing, fighting, forcing matters to work to his will, so

Kate imagined him tall, broad, and brawny, indefatigable in his

undertakings; the next, his mother was telling of such

thoughtfulness, such kindness, such loving care that Kate's mental

picture shifted to a neat, exacting little man, purely effeminate

as men ever can be; but whatever she thought, some right instinct

prevented her from making a comment or asking a question.