the cows serenely chewed their
cuds and whisked away the flies with swinging tails. Deacon Baxter was
taking his cows to a pasture far over the hill, the feed having grown
too short in his own fields. Patty was washing dishes in the kitchen and
Waitstill was in the dairy-house at the butter-making, one of her chief
delights. She worked with speed and with beautiful sureness, patting,
squeezing, rolling the golden mass, like the true artist she was, then
turning the sweet-scented waxen balls out of the mould on to the big
stone-china platter that stood waiting. She had been up early and for
the last hour she had toiled with devouring eagerness that she might
have a little time to herself. It was hers now, for Patty would be busy
with the beds after she finished the dishes, so she drew a folded
paper from her pocket, the first communication she had ever received in
Ivory's handwriting, and sat down to read it.

MY DEAR WAITSTILL:--

Rodman will take this packet and leave it with you when he finds
opportunity. It is not in any real sense a letter, so I am in no danger
of incurring your father's displeasure. You will probably have heard new
rumors concerning my father during the past few days, for Peter Morrill
has been to Enfield, New Hampshire, where he says letters have been
received stating that my father died in Cortland, Ohio, more than five
years ago. I shall do what I can to substantiate this fresh report as I
have always done with all the previous ones, but I have little hope of
securing reliable information at this distance, and after this length
of time. I do not know when I can ever start on a personal quest myself,
for even had I the money I could not leave home until Rodman is much
older, and fitted for greater responsibility. Oh! Waitstill, how you
have helped my poor, dear mother! Would that I were free to tell you how
I value your friendship! It is something more than mere friendship! What
you are doing is like throwing a life-line to a sinking human being.
Two or three times, of late, mother has forgotten to set out the supper
things for my father. Her ten years' incessant waiting for him seems to
have subsided a little, and in its place she watches for you. [Ivory
had written "watches for her daughter" but carefully erased the last two
words.] You come but seldom, but her heart feeds on the sight of you.
What she needed, it seems, was the magical touch of youth and health and
strength and sympathy, the