In a few minutes Bim called from the top of the ladder to Ann.  The latter went and looked up at her.  Both girls burst into peals of merry laughter.  Bim had put on a suit of her father’s old clothes and her buffalo skin whiskers and was a wild sight.

“Don’t you come down looking like that,” said Ann.  “I’ll go up there and ’tend to you.”

Ann climbed the ladder and for a time there was much laughing and chattering in the little loft.  By and by Ann came down.  Bim hesitated, laughing, above the ladder for a moment, and presently followed in her best blue dress, against which the golden curls of her hair fell gracefully.  With red cheeks and bright eyes, she was a glowing picture.  Very timidly she gave her hand to Mr. Biggs.

“It’s just the right dress,” he said.  “It goes so well with your hair.  I’m glad to see you.  I have never seen a girl like you in my life.”

“If I knew how, I’d look different,” said Bim.  “I reckon I look cross.  Cows have done it.  Do you like cows?”

“I hate cows—­I’ve got a thousand cows and I see as little of them as possible,” said he.

“It is such a pleasure to hate cows!” Bim exclaimed.  “There’s nothing I enjoy so much.”

“Why?” Ann asked.

“I am not sure, but I think it is because they give milk—­such quantities of milk!  Sometimes I lie awake at night hating cows.  There are so many cows here it keeps me busy.”

“Bim has to milk a cow—­that’s the reason,” said Ann.

“I’d like to come over and see her do it,” said Mr. Biggs.

“If you do I’ll milk in your face—­honest I will,” said Bim.

“I wouldn’t care if it rained milk.  I’m going to come and see you often, if your mother will let me.”

A blush spread over the girl’s cheeks to the pretty dimple at the point of her chin.

“You’ll see her scampering up the ladder like a squirrel,” said Mrs. Kelso.  “She isn’t real tame yet.”

“Perhaps we could hide the ladder,” he suggested, with a smile.

“Do you play on the flute?” Bim asked.

“No,” said Mr. Biggs.

“I was afraid,” Bim exclaimed.  “My Uncle Henry does.”  She looked into Mr. Biggs’ eyes.

“You like fun—­don’t you?” he said.

“Have you got a snare drum?” Bim queried.

“No.  What put that into your head?” Mr. Biggs asked, a little mystified.

“I don’t know.  I thought I’d ask.  My Uncle Henry has a snare drum.  That’s one reason we came to Illinois.”

Mr. Biggs laughed.  “That smile of yours is very becoming,” he said.

“Did you ever dream of a long legged, brindle cat with yellow eyes and a blue tail?” she asked, as if to change the subject.

“Never!”

“I wisht you had.  Maybe you’d know how to scare it away.  It carries on so.”

“I know what would fix that cat,” said Mrs. Kelso.  “Give him the hot biscuits which you sometimes eat for supper.  He’ll never come again.”