A hundred chickens, well grown now, followed her about, vocal of their desire for attention.

She turned to them, taking down the little sack which contained the leavings of the wheat that had been threshed not so long ago here.
"Chick, chick, chick!" she called gently--"_chick_ee, _chick_ee!" So she stood, Lady Bountiful for them as they swarmed about her feet in the dooryard.
She heard the clang of the new gate, and turned, her hand shading her eyes to see who was coming.
As she stood she made a splendid picture of young womanhood, ruddy and brown, clear of skin and eye, very fair indeed to look upon.

The droop of the corners of her mouth was gone.

Her gaze was direct and free.
She walked easily, strong and straight and deep of bosom, erect of head, flat of back, as fit for love as any woman of ancient Greece.
Such had been the ministrations of the sagebrush land for Mary Gage, that once was the weakling, Mary Warren.
She saw two figures coming slowly along the well-worn track from the gate.

She could not hear the comment the one made to the other as they both advanced slowly, leaning together as gossiping women will, like two tired oxen returning from the field.
"Is that her ?" asked one of the newcomers, a ponderous sort of woman, whose feet turned out alarmingly as she walked.
"Sure it's her," said Karen Jensen.