JoeVavrika’ssaloonwasnotinthecountyseat，whereOlafandMrs。Ericsondidtheirtrading，butinacheerfullerplace，alittleBohemiansettlementwhichlayattheotherendofthecounty，tenlevelmilesnorthofOlaf’sfarm。Clararodeuptoseeherfatheralmosteveryday。Vavrika’shousewas，sotospeak，inthebackyardofhissaloon。Thegardenbetweenthetwobuildingswasinclosedbyahighboardfenceastightasapartition，andinsummerJoekeptbeertablesandwoodenbenchesamongthegooseberrybushesunderhislittlecherrytree。AtoneofthesetablesNilsEricsonwasseatedinthelateafternoon，threedaysafterhisreturnhome。Joehadgoneintoserveacustomer，andNilswasloungingonhiselbows，lookingrathermournfullyintohishalf-
emptiedpitcher，whenheheardalaughacrossthelittlegarden。
Clara，inherridinghabit，wasstandingatthebackdoorofthehouse，underthegrapevinetrellisthatoldJoehadgrowntherelongago。Nilsrose。
“Comeoutandkeepyourfatherandmecompany。We’vebeengossipingallafternoon。Nobodytobotherusbuttheflies。“
Sheshookherhead。“No，Inevercomeouthereanymore。Olafdoesn’tlikeit。Imustliveuptomyposition，youknow。“