t about his work that afternoon with a droop to his head, and
a dullness about his dark eyes, which Jim noticed with vague discomfort,
and which made him wish heartily that he had not confided to the
postmaster the story of Billings and the brake. He had quarreled with
Gertrude--everything else seemed insignificant to Allison beside that.
He had quarreled with Gertrude--Gertrude, who had been so brave, so
uncomplaining, so patient, so forbearing--had gone away from her with
the shadow of a misunderstanding between them. He kept repeating to
himself everything he had said and everything she had said, recalling
every tone and gesture. He wondered how he could have felt such a
shrinking dislike as she stood with her hand--her poor little scarred
hand!--on his arm, begging him to come back, to let her take the papers
to Mr. Fulton. How sweet she had been--how sweet! And he!

He started for home a little earlier than usual--Jim urged him to go,
with a certain rough friendliness, saying that he could look out for
things at the station. On his way home Allison went to the post-office,
hoping to get a letter for Gertrude from her mother or sister, and he
told the postmaster very humbly and simply why he had not felt like
talking this noon, and of the fact that he could not really afford to
pay five dollars a week for a maid. It was very strange, but after he
had begun, it was not at all hard to go on. He wondered vaguely how he
could have thought the postmaster a meddlesome, malicious, vulgar young
man; he seemed very sensible and friendly and respectful to-night.

Mrs. Jennings stood at the top of the hill, gaunt and black as usual;
somehow Allison did not feel the usual resentment. He stopped to speak
to her with unwonted warmth; and when, encouraged by his manner, she
began to talk about Gertrude, and what a pretty girl, and what a smart
girl, and what a sweet girl she was, he felt a sudden kindness for the
old lady, and accepted almost demonstratively the bunch of magenta and
orange vinnias she gave him to take to his wife.

As Allison went into the house, he noticed signs of a vigorous cleaning.
The back steps had been scrubbed--were still wet; the kitchen floor was
as white as the rough, dark boards could be made; the dining-room table
was set with their finest table-cloth and prettiest dishes, and was gay
with yellow flowers; fresh white curtains, breathing out sweetness, hung
at the windows. A note was pinned to the co