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Frances taught us to dance that winter, and she said, from the first lesson, that Antonia would make the best dancer among us. On Saturday nights, Mrs. Harling used to play the old operas for us 'Martha, 'Norma, 'Rigoletto' telling us the story while she played. Every Saturday night was like a party.
Harling made garden that spring, we could feel the stir of her undertaking through the willow hedge that separated our place from hers. Three of the Harling children were near me in age. Charley, the only son,—they had lost an older boy,—was sixteen; Julia, who was known as the musical one, was fourteen when I was; and Sally, the tomboy with short hair, was a year younger.
Thetford, Hingham, Harleston, Diss, West Dereham, E. Dereham, Harling, Attleborough, Watton, Bucknam, Windham, Loddon, etc.
Harling don't like to have me run much, she said evasively. 'You can do what you please when you go out, can't you? Lena asked in a guarded whisper. 'Ain't you crazy about town, Tony? I don't care what anybody says, I'm done with the farm! She glanced back over her shoulder toward the dining-room, where Mrs. Harling sat.
Ántonia looked eagerly about the house and admired everything. “Maybe I be the kind of girl you like better, now I come to town,” she suggested hopefully. How good it was to have Ántonia near us again; to see her every day and almost every night! Her greatest fault, Mrs. Harling found, was that she so often stopped her work and fell to playing with the children.
Charley Harling and I had hunted through these woods, fished from the fallen logs, until I knew every inch of the river shores and had a friendly feeling for every bar and shallow. After my swim, while I was playing about indolently in the water, I heard the sound of hoofs and wheels on the bridge. I struck downstream and shouted, as the open spring wagon came into view on the middle span.
'Was he clear dead, Tony? we cried. 'Was he dead? Well, I guess so! There, now, Nina's all upset. We won't talk about it. Don't you cry, Nina. No old tramp won't get you while Tony's here. Mrs. Harling spoke up sternly. 'Stop crying, Nina, or I'll always send you upstairs when Antonia tells us about the country. Did they never find out where he came from, Antonia? 'Never, ma'm.
Harling and Ántonia were preserving cherries, when I stopped one morning to tell them that a dancing pavilion had come to town. I had seen two drays hauling the canvas and painted poles up from the depot.
Morning after morning I used to pace up and down my sunny little room, looking off at the distant river bluffs and the roll of the blond pastures between, scanning the Æneid aloud and committing long passages to memory. Sometimes in the evening Mrs. Harling called to me as I passed her gate, and asked me to come in and let her play for me.
Everything she said seemed to come right out of her heart. One evening when we were picking out kernels for walnut taffy, Tony told us a new story. 'Mrs. Harling, did you ever hear about what happened up in the Norwegian settlement last summer, when I was threshing there? We were at Iversons', and I was driving one of the grain-wagons. Mrs. Harling came out and sat down among us.
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