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Thanks to the storm-shed without, the hall was dark, and for a moment he could only vaguely see the huge bulk of the infantryman standing erect before him, the very attitude indicative of stern official purpose.

Suddenly, and rather precipitately, there came from around the corner of the storm-shed a lamb in full action. Its gait was as effective as it was erratic; it looked very much as if the legs were running away with it. From the corner of the shed it made a joyous gambol in the direction of the fire and the steaming kettle, from which point it made for the down-slope of the knoll.

He idled along after them, revolving in his mind his plans for the evening some boards to be nailed tight on the storm-shed, and certain repairs on the south side of the pen. Although the lamb had delayed him, the sun was still above the horizon as he drew near home if a word which means so much may be applied to a herder's shack.

By looking back occasionally and sighting her route by means of the shack and the storm-shed, the relative positions of which she had been careful to observe when she first went out, she held her course so well that when she next came in sight of the line of trees she was at the same point as before.

It was then barely nine o'clock. Guard mounting, the first held since Saturday, was just over. The morning reports, the first rendered since Saturday, were just in, and the staff and company officers for the first time since Saturday were beginning to gather at headquarters and to compare notes. All had much to tell. Stannard's wood-pile, Snaffle's storm-shed, and Barker's cow had blown away.

But I shall see to it that my son need never be ashamed of his mother. If one woman could fight love so can another." When Grandma was taking off her rubbers in her little storm-shed she smiled and fretted: "Dear me, Cynthy, that boy of yours is as innocent right now as you were in the olden days. He why, he just doesn't know anything!"

And he had chosen this bright spot whereon to immortalize his name. She opened the door and went out. Mr. Brown was nowhere to be seen. The flock, all eyes, turned in a body and stared at her. Presently she went to look for him. He was not in the storm-shed, nor anywhere down the slope, nor in the gully. She walked slowly round the shack and scanned the prairie in all directions.

They spread the board table beneath an old apple tree, and cleaned up for the repast in the kitchen storm-shed with an apologetic, "Sorry to trouble you, Miss Saunders," or such a matter as each went in. Just as Miss Mattie was withdrawing the meat from the oven, there came a knock at the door. "Goodness, gracious!" she exclaimed. "Who can that be now? Will, will you see who that is? I can't go."

What was the matter with the man who was running this part of the world? Steve Brown was otherwise engaged. He was sitting on the ground behind the storm-shed with a lamb in his lap. He was trying to remove from its back the pelt of another lamb which had been neatly fitted on over its own.