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 weather'll be so mild in Oregon we shall not need a tight kitchen."

"Is Oregon a tight house?" asked three-year-old Bobbie, whose brief life had many a time been clouded by the complaints of his mother and sisters,—complaints such as are often heard to this day from women in the country homes of the frontier and middle West, where more than one-half of their waking hours are spent in the unfinished and uncomfortable kitchens peculiar to the slave era, in which—as almost any makeshift was considered "good enough for niggers"—the unfinished kitchen came to stay.

The vigorous barking of Rover announced the approach of visitors; and the circle around the fireside was enlarged, amid the clatter of moving chairs and tables, to make room for Elijah Robinson and his wife,—the former a brother of Annie Ranger, and the latter a sister of John. The meeting between the sisters-in-law was expectant, anxious, and embarrassing.

"How did you like the news?" asked Mrs. Robinson, after an awkward silence.

"How did you like it?" was the evasive reply, as the twain withdrew to a distant corner, where they could exchange confidences undisturbed.

"I haven't had time to think it over yet," said Mrs. Ranger. "My greatest trouble is about leaving our parents. It seems as if I could not bear to break the news to them."

"Don't worry, Annie; they know already. When Lije told his mother that John was going to Oregon, she fainted dead away. When she revived and sat up, she wanted to come right over to see you, in spite of the storm."

"Just listen! How the wind does roar!"

"I don't see how your mother can live without you, Annie. I tried very hard to persuade Lije to refuse to buy John's farm; but he would have his way, as he