know?" he asked of his wife when he found her, "do you know who
it is Anice is amusing in the parlor? What singular fancies the girl
has, with all her good sense!"

CHAPTER XII - On Guard

Though they saw comparatively little of each other, the friendly feeling
established between Anice and Joan, in their first interview, gained
strength gradually as time went on. Coming home from her work at noon or
at night, Joan would see traces of Anice's presence, and listen to Liz's
praises of her. Liz was fond of her and found comfort in her. The days
when the gray pony came to a stop in his jog-trot on the roadside before
the gate had a kind of pleasurable excitement in them. They were the
sole spice of her life. She understood Anice as little as she understood
Joan, but she liked her. She had a vague fancy that in some way Anice
was like Joan; that there was the same strength in her,--a strength
upon which she herself might depend. And then she found even a stronger
attraction in her visitor's personal adornments, in her graceful dress,
in any elegant trifle she wore. She liked to look at her clothes and ask
questions about them, and wonder how _she_ would look if she were the
possessor of such beautiful things.

"She wur loike a pictur," she would say mournfully to Joan. "She had a
blue gown on, an' a hat wi' blue-bells in it, an' summat white an' soft
frilled up round her neck. Eh! it wur pretty. I wish I wur a lady. I
dunnot see why ivverybody canna be a lady an' have such loike."

Later Joan got up and went to the child, who lay upon the bed in a
corner of the room.

There were thoughts at work within her of which Liz knew nothing. Liz
only looked at her wondering as she took the sleeping baby in her arms,
and began to pace the floor, walking to and fro with a slow step.

"Have I said owt to vex yo'?" said Liz.

"No, lass," was the answer, "it is na thee as worrits me. I con scarce
tell what it is mysen, but it is na thee, nivver fear."

But there was a shadow upon her all the rest of the night. She did not
lay the child down again, but carried it in her arms until they went to
bed, and even there it lay upon her breast.

"It's queer to me as yo' should be so fond o' that choild, Joan," said
Liz, standing by the side of the bed.

Joan raised her head from the pillow and looked down at the small face
resting upon her bosom, and she touched the baby's cheek lightly with
her finger, flushing curiously.

"It