I wouldn't for the world have her think that I--"

"Why, it doesn't matter at all," said Ruth, as she turned toward the
road. "You only said what people were saying."

"But I wouldn't for anything," the woman called nervously after her,
"have her think that-- And what'll I do with this?"

"Eat it," said Ruth over her shoulder. The prize for which she had
fought so desperately in the early morning meant nothing to her now.

Jeffrey Whiting did not come home that night. Through the long
twilight of one of the longest days of the year, Ruth sat reading in
the old place on the hill, where Jeffrey would be sure to find her.
Suddenly, when it was full dark, she knew that he would not come.

She did not try to argue with herself. She did not fight back the
nervous feeling that something had happened. She was sure that she had
been all day expecting it. When the moon came up over the hill and the
long purple shadows of the elm trees on the crest came stalking down
in the white light, she went miserably into the house and up to the
little room they had fitted up for her in the loft of her own home.

She cried herself into a wearied, troubled sleep. But with the
elasticity of youth and health she was awake at the first hint of
morning, and the cloud of the night had passed.

She dressed and hurried down into the yard where Norman Apgarth was
just stirring about with his milk pails. She was glad to face daylight
and action. A man had put his trust in her before all others. She was
eager to answer to his faith.

"Where is Brom Bones?" she demanded of the still drowsy Apgarth as she
caught him crossing the yard from the milk house.

"The colt? He's up in the back pasture, just around the knob of the
mountain. What was you calc'latin' to do with him, Miss?"

"I want to use him," said Ruth. "May I?"

"Use him? Certainly, if you want to. But, say, Miss, that colt ain't
been driv' since the Spring's work. An' he's so fat an' silky he's
liable to act foolish."

"I'm going to _ride_ him," said Ruth briefly, as she stepped to the
horse barn door for a bridle.

"Now, say, Miss," the man opposed feebly, "you could take the brown
pony just as well; I don't need her a bit. And I tell you that colt
is just a lun-_at_-ic, when he's been idle so long."

"Thank you," said Ruth, as she started up the hill. "But I think I'll
find work enough to satisfy even Brom Bones to-day."

The big black colt followed her peaceably down the mou