dandelions. She began the cleaning process all over again. While she worked she paused occasionally, listening intently. Presently they came down the creek, the man carrying the cocoon as if it were a jewel, while Elnora made her way along the bank, taking a lesson in casting. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes shining, the bushes taking liberties with her hair. For a picture of perfect loveliness she scarcely could have been surpassed, and the eyes of Philip Ammon seemed to be in working order.
"Moth-er!" called Elnora.
There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl's voice as she sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock's heart. She never had heard that word so pronounced before and a lump rose in her throat.
"Here!" she answered.
She went on examining the dandelion leaves.
"Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago," said Elnora. "He has been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came fishing down the creek and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me. He feels that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he gets well. What do you think about it?"
Philip Ammon extended his hand.
"I am glad to know you," he said.
"You may take the handshaking for granted," replied Mrs. Comstock. "Dandelions have a way of making the fingers sticky, and I like to know a man before I take.
