together at the table, and now she was torturing me. Well, I would give
her no further opportunity; I would let her lead young Lundsford into
her mind and out again, just as it suited her fancy.

The coves and nooks and quiet pools that lay along the stream were
dreamful; there was not a mighty rock nor bold surprising bluff to
startle one with its grandeur, but at the end of every view was the
promise of a resting place and never was the fancy led to
disappointment. Now gurgle and drip, now perfect calm, the elm leaf
motionless, the bird dreaming. And had history marched down that quiet
vale a thousand years ago and tinged the water with the blood of man,
how sweetly verse would sing its beauty, from what distances would come
the poet and the artist, the rich man seeking rest--all would flock to
marvel and to praise. Ah, we care but little for what nature has done,
until man has placed his stamp upon it.

I loitered and mused upon going to the mill and upon returning home. And
when I came within sight of the house I halted suddenly, wondering
whether I had forgotten something. Yes, I had. I had forgotten my
resolve to be cool and dignified under the reading eyes of that girl. I
led the mare to the rear end of the passage and had taken off the bag of
meal when Guinea came out.

"Mr. Hawes," she said, "I wish you would forgive me for the way I acted
last night and this morning. Now let us be good friends, friends in
trouble, and let us hereafter talk with sense and without restraint. I
am going to be frank with you, for I don't see why I should be cramped.
I am not going to pretend not to know--know something, and you must
wait; we must all wait for--for anything that is to come. I hardly know
what I am saying, but you understand me."

She held out her hand, and I took it, tremulously at first, but I held
it with a firm and manly honesty as I looked into her eyes. "Yes, I
understand you, and it shall be as you say. I have been strong with
every one but you, and I am going to show you that I can be your friend.
Wait a moment. You know what I think, but I will not hint at it again.
It was mean of me--yes, I must say it--it was mean of me to jibe you.
But I'll not do it again. If you only knew what my early life was. I was
the victim of size, an awkward boy, the jest of a neighborhood; and
while I might have outlived some of my awkwardness, I am still
sensitive, for I carry scars."

"Awkward," she laughed. "Why, I don'