"Jo looked over toward the house on the hill above her place." page two Far Off Pastures By Shirley Mills Jo picked up a rock and tossed it at Bessie. It found its mark on the cow's hind quarter, and Bessie trotted up the lane nervously. "Just because I have to go someplace tonight everything is slow," Jo complained, picking up another rock. "Dad's late getting to the barn and the cows are too ornery to move. Gee, it's already six-thirty and I've got to help Daddy about two hours before I can get to Brendon's at eight, besides eatin' supper and takin' a bath. Almost wish I didn't have to go." Jo caught herself; she was talking like Mother now, saying things she didn't mean. She looked over toward the house on the hill above her place. It was white and the twilight seemed to emphasize its whiteness. It was a big house with a roof made of light green shingles. Io had heard that it had a bar in the basement just like the ones in the saloons in town where guests came to drink whiskey and beer and wine. She'd see the bar tonight. Her heart gave an excited little twist. And she'd see the wine-colored drapes that hung clear to the floor, and walk on the soft carpets. And maybe she'd be able to go into the library and look at the book covers and sit in the big soft-cushioned chair. And she'd sleep in real white sheets with a quilt made from duck's down over her. Jo shut the gate as the last cow entered the corral. Dad hadn't come yet so she opened the barn door and the cows went obediently into their own stantions. Jo pushed the yokes shut about each occupant's neck. Dad came in just as she had finished shoveling out the last portion of grain. "Well, Jo, my little girl gets more efficient every day. Soon you'll be doing the milking by yourself." He gave her head an affectionate tug. Jo smiled proudly. "I gave them all grain, Dad. I'll bet I'm as good as John used to be!" "Yes, little one, John liked to tarry along the way." "Then I'll be a better boy than John when John comes home!" "The army should make a man of him, Jo." Dad paused and looked around. "Have you seen my milk bucket and stool?" "I put it over in the corner so the cows wouldn't step on it." Dad laughed, "Get it for me, will you, Jo?" He took his battered hat off the nail by the door and pushed it toward the back of his head. Jo looked at him shyly. "Can't you, Dad? You're closer and I got to hurry tonight. I'm going to Brendon's," she finished, displaying an aristocratic air. "So you're goin' high-hat on us, daughter?" "Trudy is scared to stay alone, and the maid's mother is sick, and Mr. and Mrs. Brendon are goin' to some important dinner, so they asked me to stay with Trudy." "Isn't Trudy as old as you are, Jo?" "Ya, but she's rich, and rich people are scared of life, I think?" she said, her small voice taking on a serious air to match the seriousness of her philosophy. "Well, scat up to the loft and throw down plenty of hay and I'll let you go early tonight, little one." "Thanks, Dad," Jo said excitedly as she scampered up the ladder. She struggled with the pitchfork and finally sent a forkful of hay flying down through the trap door in the loft. Several pitchforkfuls followed, and Jo climbed down the ladder again. "Through already, Jo?" Dad asked, looking up from his milk pail. "Ya, when I'm in a hurry, I'm fast. 'Bye, Dad." She bolted out of the door like an unbroken colt. Then she stopped outside and waited for a moment. "A Dad," she hesitated, "I'm sleeping there all night." "I know that, dear. It's all right with me. Be home by six though chores, you know." Her lips puckered, and her chin quivered. "But, Dad," she said, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. The steady rhythm of the milk dropping on the side of the milk pail was interrupted when Dad looked up. "What's wrong, Jo?" "Oh, Daddy, rich people sleep late. Trudy sleeps till nine at least, every morning. I don't want to have to tell them I help milk cows. I don't want them to think I'm a farmer." Dad looked worried for a moment, and then he smiled and waved Jo away with his hand. "Sleep till nine then, little one." "Thanks, Dad." Jo was all smiles again as she darted out of the door and down the road. Mother had prepared a special supper for Jo, and it was waiting for her on the kitchen table when she came in. Jo sat down and nibbled at a piece of cheese nervously. "Time, please, Mom?" "It's twenty to eight." Io jumped up from her place. "Gee, it's late. Can't eat." "You sit there and eat, Josephine Peters, or I'll take a willow to you if you think I'm going to prepare a meal for nothing ..." "But, Mom" Io seated herself again, and spread a piece of bread with butter and jam. "What did you put onions on my plate for? They make my breath smell. Trudy says so." She threw the onions to one side and gulped down a glass of milk with half-chewed mouthfuls of bread. "Get me my nightgown, Mom." "It's on the end of the table there, Jo. And don't get so excited. Your food won't digest." When she had finished eating, Jo yanked off her coveralls and shirt and changed into a cotton dress. "Where's my coat, Mom?" Mom scurried out of the bedroom, her little round face twisted into a funny little frown. "Oh, Jo, but you're a helpless child." She got the coat out of the closet and helped Jo into it. Jo gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom. Bye, Mom." "Have a good time, dear." Jo rang the doorbell several times in succession to hear the chimes that echoed and re-echoed throughout the interior of the house. Mrs. Brendon smelled like gardenias when she came to answer the ring. "Hello, Josephine, dear." "Hello," Jo said, her eyes fixed on the necklace (Continued on Page 23) page three