"That bane a gude idea," she said. "Nex' time people come, mebbe they have to knock first."
"We could never hear them," said the girl. "How are we going to know when you are going to pay us a call? We are very busy, Thora and I, we expect our furniture almost any day. We are going to go in for bees and goats—but—we may get lonesome sometimes. What shall we do? Hang up a horn by the gate for you to blow?"
"I'm afraid you wouldn't hear it," replied Sheridan. "I have a better scheme than that. It needs paper to elucidate it. I'll explain when we get back to the house. That is, if we're invited back?" he laughed.
"That depends. Mr. Jackson, do you like waffles?"
"Do I like waffles? Miss—does a bee like honey?"
"Then you will both have to come back, for we are to have waffles for supper."
"How do you get your mail?" asked Sheridan, on their way back.
She widened her eyes.
"That is very simple. We don't have any." She shook her head laughingly as he looked at her, refusing to answer any suggestion of sympathy in his glance. "We have burned all our bridges in the East, Thora and I. We are orphans, sir, yet not unfortunate; pioneers, or heiresses, of our own fortunes, beholden to none, dependent upon none, save for our friendships." She bowed to him, her eyes sparkling, her small teeth showing in her smile, chin uplifted.
