“I didn’t say anything,” said Kate, “but if I were saying exactly what I feel, you’d know I despise it all.”

“Why, Kate Barnes!” cried the horrified Nancy Ellen, “Whatever do you mean?”

“I haven’t thought enough to put it to you clearly,” said Kate, “but someway the city repels me.  Facilities for manufacturing something start a city.  It begins with the men who do the work, and the men who profit from that work, living in the same coop.  It expands, and goes on, and grows, on that basis.  It’s the laborer, living on his hire, and the manufacturer living on the laborer’s productions, coming in daily contact.  The contrast is too great, the space is too small.  Somebody is going to get the life crowded out of him at every turn, and it isn’t always the work hand in the factory.  The money kings eat each other for breakfast every day.  As for work, we always thought we worked.  You should take a peep into the shops and factories I’ve seen this week.  Work?  Why, we don’t know what work is, and we waste enough food every day to keep a workman’s family, and we’re dressed liked queens, in comparison with them right now.”

“Do you mean to say if he asks you —?” It was a small explosion.

“I mean to say if he asks me, ’buy me that two hundred acres of land where I want it, build me the house and barns I want, and guarantee that I may live there as I please, and I’ll marry you to-morrow.’  If it’s Chicago —­ Never!  I haven’t stolen, murdered, or betrayed, who should I be imprisoned?”

“Why, you hopeless anarchist!” said Nancy Ellen, “I am going to tell John Jardine on you.”

“Do!” urged Kate.  “Sound him on the land question.  It’s our only hope of a common foundation.  Have you send Agatha word that we will be out this afternoon?”

“I have,” said Nancy Ellen.  “And I don’t doubt that now, even now, she is in the kitchen —­ how would she put it?”

“‘Compounding a cake,’” said Kate, “while Adam is in the cellar ‘freezing a custard.’  Adam, 3d, will be raking the yard afresh and Susan will be sweeping the walks steadily from now until they sight us coming down the road.  What you bet Agatha asked John his intentions?  I almost wish she would,” she added.  “He has some, but there is a string to them in some way, and I can’t just make out where, or why it is.”

“Not even a guess?” asked Nancy Ellen.

“Not even a guess, with any sense to it.  I’ve thought it was coming repeatedly; but I’ve got a stubborn Bates streak, and I won’t lift a finger to help him.  He’ll speak up, loud and plain, or there will be no ‘connubial bliss’ for us, as Agatha says.  I think he has ideas about other things than freight train gear.  According to his programme we must have so much time to become acquainted, I must see his home and people, he must see mine.  If there’s more after that, I’m not informed.  Like as not there is.  It may come after we get back to-night, I can’t say.”