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 been told that you ain't got much help here. We thought maybe you could do with us. My son and me we're both good milkers, and he's good with horses and all kinds of farm work."

"But I have no place to lodge you in," said Derek. "The shack isn't fit for winter."

"Oh, we'll make it all right," replied the squaw easily. "We just come from an awful poor one now. Our floor was never dry. I can do your housework, too. My goodness, that's a nice baby you got." She stared curiously at the child. Evidently she knew all about his marriage.

The man broke in, "I can't go no further, I tell you. I must get in some place and lie down or I'll die."

He looked fit to die, Derek thought. He said:

"Well you may come and look over the shack. If you think you can live in it, I'll give you work." With Buckskin on his shoulder he led the way through the orchard.

A little windmill made by Bobby Sharroe turned with a whining noise on the roof of the shack. The outer walls were ornamented with skins of squirrels and chipmunks he had nailed there to dry, and, in the row at leaving, had forgotten. The stove in the lean-to was red with rust.

"Bill and me will carry that stove inside," said the woman. "We'll be fine and warm. Kin we have fresh straw fer the bunks? And maybe you have an old quilt you not usin'?"

"Come to the house and I'll give up a couple," said Vale. "Have you food?"

"We got bread and ham. If we jus' had some tea and a point of milk and a little drippin' or butter we'd git on fine."

She was such an amiable, wholesome soul Derek liked her at once. And he liked the little girls who fluttered about the baby, clapping their hands at him, and laughing