with all its hurt a frank understanding had been made possible. The very next day Zora chose to show Bles over her new home and grounds, and to speak frankly to him. They looked at the land, examined the proposed farm sites, and viewed the living-room and dormitory in the house.
“You haven’t seen my den,” said Zora.
“No.”
“Miss Smith is in there now; she often hides there. Come.”
He went into the large central house and into the living-room, then out on the porch, beyond which lay the kitchen. But to the left, and at the end of the porch, was a small building. It was ceiled in dark yellow pine, with figured denim on the walls. A straight desk of rough hewn wood stood in the corner by the white-curtained window, and a couch and two large easy-chairs faced a tall narrow fireplace of uneven stone. A thick green rag-carpet covered the floor; a few pictures were on the walls‚ÅÝ‚Äîa Madonna, a scene of mad careering horses, and some sad baby faces. The room was a unity; things fitted together as if they belonged together. It was restful and beautiful, from the cheerful pine blaze before which Miss Smith was sitting, to the square-paned window that let in the crimson rays of gathering night. All round the room, stopping only at the fireplace, ran low shelves of the same yellow pine, filled with books and magazines. He scanned curiously Plato‚Äôs Republic, Gorky‚Äôs ‚ÄúComrades,‚Äù a Cyclop√¶dia of Agriculture, Balzac‚Äôs novels, Spencer‚Äôs ‚ÄúFirst Principles,‚Äù Tennyson‚Äôs Poems.
“This is my university,” Zora explained, smiling at his interested survey. They went out again and wandered down near the old lagoon.
“Now, Bles,” she began, “since we understand each other, can we not work together as good friends?” She spoke simply and frankly,