the air bore the musty odour of a shut and long
uninhabited house. The Bonbright home had been a good one for the
mountains, of hewn logs, and with four rooms, and two great stone
chimneys. Inside was the furniture which Mary Gillenwaters brought to it
as a bride when her mountain lover came down to Hepzibah and with the
swift ardour of his tribe--this Bonbright's fires of eloquence were all
kindled upon the altar of his mating romance--charmed the daughter of its
one merchant. These added to the already fairly complete plenishings,
many of which had come over the mountains from Virginia when Sevier
opened up the new State, gave an air of abundance, even of sober elegance
to the room.

Reverently Judith moved among the dumb witnesses and servitors of
Bonbright generations. Here was the spinning-wheel, here the cards, and
out in the little room off the porch stood the loom. She had dreams of
replacing these with a sewing machine. Nobody wove jeans any more--but a
good carpet-loom now, _that_ might be made useful. Unwilling to hang the
bedding on bushes for fear of a chance tear from twig or thorn, she
rigged a line in the back yard, and spread quilt and homespun blanket,
coarse white sheets and pillowcases that were yellowing with age, out for
the glad gay wind to play with, for the sunshine to sweeten.

"What a lot of feather beds!" she murmured as she tallied them over.
"That there ticking is better than you can buy in the stores. My, ain't
these light and nice!"

All the warm, sunny afternoon she toiled at her self-appointed labour of
love. She swept and dusted, she scrubbed and cleaned, with capable
fingers, proud of the strength and skill that made her a good housewife;
then bringing in the fragrant, homely fabrics, made up the beds and
placed all back in due order.

"He's boun' to notice somebody's been here and put things to rights," she
said over and over to herself. "If it looks sightly, and seems like home,
mebbe he'll give out the notion of stayin' at Nancy Card's, and come and
live here." She brooded on the bliss of the idea as she worked.

Under the great mahogany four-poster in the front room was slipped a
trundle-bed that she drew out and looked at with fond eyes. No doubt
Creed's boyish head had lain there once. She wished passionately that she
had known him then, all unaware that we never do know our lovers when
they and we are children. Even those playfellows who are destined to be
mates find, all