leaves.

He turned hastily away, passed the great Englishman with unseeing eyes,
clanged the iron gate heavily behind him, and went on towards the house
of his father.

The family were at dinner when he entered, and he took his seat silently
in the empty chair at his stepmother's right hand.

As he sat down she reached out and felt his coat sleeve.

"I declar, Nick, you air soaked clean through," she said. "Anybody'd
think you'd been layin' out in the rain all night. You go up and change
your clothes an' I'll keep your dinner hot on the stove."

Nicholas went upstairs mechanically, and when he came down his father
had gone to the stable and his stepmother was alone in the kitchen.

She brought him his dinner, standing beside the table while he ate it,
watching him with an intentness that was almost wistful.

"Would you like some molasses on your corn pone?" she asked as he
finished and pushed his plate away. Then, as he shook his head, she
added hesitatingly, "It come from Jerry Pollard's store."

But he only shook his head again, following with his eyes the wave-like
design on the mahogany-coloured oilcloth that covered the table.

Marthy Burr set the jug aside, nervously clearing her throat.

"I reckon Jerry Pollard has got one of the finest stores anywhar
'bouts," she said suddenly.

Nicholas looked up quickly and met her eyes. She was holding a dish of
baked potatoes in one hand and the other was resting for support upon
the edge of the table. Her face was yellow and interlined, and a faint
odour of camphor came from the bandage about her cheek.

"Yes," he replied indifferently. "He does a very good business."

His stepmother put the dish of potatoes back upon the table and took up
the pitcher of buttermilk. Her hand was trembling nervously. There was a
slight gasp in her voice when she spoke.

"I don't know but what it's as big a thing to be in a fine store like
that as 'tis to be a lawyer," she said.

For a moment Nicholas did not answer. His eyes grew darker as she stood
before him, and a shadow closed upon his face. As in a frame, he saw the
outline of her figure defined against the square of falling rain between
the window sashes. Her shoulders, bent slightly forward as if crushed by
the bearing of heavy burdens, reminded him of a domestic animal, full of
years and labour.

His face softened and he smiled into her eyes.

"Yes, I don't know but what it is just as well," he responded
cheerfull